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Chapter Text

Her body was floating. How or where Nihal had no idea, but it was comfortable. She barely felt anything, and it was so silent that all she could hear was her own heartbeat and breath, as if she were lying on the surface of the waves, her ears covered with water.

No thoughts. Just silence and peace. Which was pretty unusual, she noticed with a slight start. Her mind was rarely this empty. And now that these thoughts began swarming in her head, she felt the feeling of quietude slowly dissipate. Her sense of self returned bit by bit. Now that’s more like it, she said. Or did she think that? She was not sure.

She could now hear some muffled noises as if they were coming from a distance, or from the surface. Her ears were still underwater, but the sound gradually became lauder and lauder. She squirmed in distaste, wanting to continue lying like a starfish in peace. She tried shaking her head. Who knows, maybe the voices would go away. But what if they are voices from inside her head? That possibility did not disturb her as much as it should. She was irritated, more like.

But no. The voices got even louder. And now she felt a pressure on her cheek. It shoved her face left and right, not too hard but not too soft either. She frowned. Let me sleep in peace, for God’s sake, she wanted to shout to whoever was obnoxious enough to keep doing this despite seeing her distress. She was pretty sure her face was pushed around by a hand. She wanted to lift hers to swat it away, but her control over her limbs was lacking. She felt her arm getting up and swinging, only to plop down onto her stomach.

How wonderful. Now they were poking her.

Understanding that she was not going to be left alone, she opened her eyes with a huff. She was not startled by her blurry vision, for her eyesight was terrible. Huh, she thought, did I not bring my goggles with me? She wore thick glasses, so bad eyesight was to be expected.

What she did not expect, though, was for it to slowly clear and focus. She frowned. Wait. As a myopic for almost twenty years, she was pretty sure this was not supposed to happen. She could now see the faces leaning over her down to every single detail. They were all women, the three of them, and by God they were pretty. Nihal blinked a few times, making sure what she was seeing was real. The women were all dark-haired, their faces small, elegant, and pale. They were all dressed in the same white garments, like a uniform. Their long hair was braided in elaborate patterns, cascading down to their waists. Their lips were moving, revealing pearl-white teeth. As her vision became clearer, she could hear them properly as well. They were all shouting the same thing:

Eӓrien ! Etkuinu, Eӓrien! Et…

-ake up!

Wake up, Eӓrien!

The frown on Nihal’s face deepened. What was that at the beginning? Et… And what the hell was Eӓrien? Then she heard the woman on her right sigh in frustration and felt her shake her arm roughly.

“You were slacking off again, weren’t you? If we do not finish this, we will all get scolded because of you!”

Before Nihal could say that she had never seen the woman before in her life and what she was babbling about, the woman on her left admonished, “What makes you think she was slacking off? Maybe she fell down and hit her head. And it took quite a bit of effort to wake her up!”

The first woman huffed and folded her arms, “Oh please, look at where we found her. She was clearly enjoying a nap under the tree.”

The tree? Nihal lifted her gaze above the women’s heads and saw that yes, there indeed was a tree above her. Before, she was too focused on the women in her face to notice it. But now that she was “awake”, they distanced themselves from her a little. Her breath caught as she was hit by the tree’s unexpectedly vibrant shade of green. The blue sky above was spotted with droplets of leaves reaching high, making quite a picturesque view. Huh, weird, she thought, using her eyes to look around as much as possible while still lying down. I do not remember lying down under a tree. Her brows knit together as she suddenly jolted upright, startling the women and causing them to yelp a little. Wait, where the hell was I before this?

As soon as she sat up, her head began to swim, and not in a good way. Nausea hit her like a slap, and the earth began to spin. She swayed dangerously. Just as she was falling back down to the grass, she was caught by the woman on her left, who started calling her that strange name again, “Eӓrien?! What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Do I look all right? She wanted to retort, but she did not trust herself to speak without throwing up. She settled with minutely shaking her head.

Meanwhile, the woman opposite her got up, “There’s clearly something up with her. We should get her inside.”

The woman on her right looked unsure, “But what about the supplies? We were supposed to bring them half an hour ago!”

“We can take care of it after we take her to the Healers.” The expression on her stern face refused to argue on the matter. Without another word, the women on Nihal’s sides hooked their arms around hers and slowly lifted her up to her feet. Big mistake. The dams opened, and suddenly Nihal buckled and unceremoniously threw up whatever was in her stomach. The women around her yelped in surprise, and a few seconds later were quick to groan in disgust. The stench of her vomit made Nihal want to throw up again, but as she buckled over a second time, because she had emptied her stomach, nothing came out. She tasted acid as she gagged and drooled gastric liquid. The two women supporting her almost dropped her this time.

“Get her inside, quick! The smell makes her sick.” The woman in front of her yelled, covering her nose and mouth with her hand.

“Easy for you to say!” The one on her right shot back. But they did as they were told. Nihal could vaguely register them dragging her inside a building and walking through lush, marble hallways. She barely had time to appreciate the architecture before she lost consciousness, unfortunately.

***

The second time Nihal woke up that day she was not floating, but instead lying on a solid bed. The pillow was soft, and the blanket was covering her like a cocoon. She could feel a slight breeze caressing her face. Sighing contentedly and wishing that she could stay there forever, she cracked her eyes open and looked around.

She was in a section of a hospital wing, surrounded by undrawn curtains that were supported by tall pillars. Her bed was beside a window, from which entered soft, silver light. The curtains by the window billowed slightly from the sweet wind. As she looked at the other beds, she realized that she was the only patient there. But she was not alone, for she had a visitor.  A tall woman with a chiseled face and dark auburn hair was sitting on a chair by the bed, looking her over with a concerned expression on her face.

“Ah, you are awake. Thank the Valar,” she sighed in relief, smiling slightly. Her sincerity could be felt through the warmth emanating from her eyes more than anything. “How are you feeling, Eӓrien?”

There it was. That familiar word. Nihal frowned upon hearing people call her that again. They must be mistaking her for someone else. She had to clear that up at some point. She sat up. A little too abruptly, it seemed, for her vision got dark for a moment and she got dizzy. She had to wait a moment for adjustment. Finally, she managed to croak “Fine, I guess. No more feeling nauseous.”

The smile on the woman’s face grew. “Wonderful. Here, have some water.” She poured water from a jug into a glass, swiftly handing it to her. Nihal took it gratefully and drank the cold, fresh water as if parched.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming a lot stronger now. Upon hearing herself, however, she could not help but frown in confusion at the way she sounded. She carefully put the glass down at her bedside table. “Uh…” She could not believe it. She had to further test in order to be sure. She listened to herself intently as she spoke, “What happened, exactly?”

As she felt like she was edging closer and closer to a panic attack, she observed that the woman at her bedside was beginning to mirror her frown of confusion. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“R-remember what?” She looked down at her hands, which certainly did not look like hers. Although they had the same light shade, these were longer, thinner, and much more elegant. Her breath hitched. “What is this? Where am I? How did I even get here? What happened to me?!”

“Hey, try to calm down, all right? Everything is going to be fine. You must have hit your head when you fell down.” The woman held her hands up as if she was soothing a scared, wild animal.

“Fell down? But I… I was in the water before. I am sure I was dr –” She could feel blood draining from her face as she took in her surroundings. She scrambled out of the bed, ignoring the auburn-haired tall lady’s protests and orders. She looked all over her body, her breath coming out in shorter gasps second by second. She spun around, barefoot, and felt around the outlines of a body that wasn’t her own. Finally, her hands came to her head, and she grabbed a fistful of hair and brought the strands in front of her eyes. Long, black hair. Her other hand landed on her ear, her fingertips grazing on a pointy tip. “No...” she whispered, feeling around her face. “No no no no…”

“Eӓrien, you need to calm down,” the tall lady had stood up as well, coming towards her slowly.

Nihal looked around frantically. She had to know. She had to be sure. At the corner of the healer’s ward, she spotted a sink and a mirror above it, attached to the wall. She ran towards it, her movements a lot more agile than she had expected. In two seconds, she found herself in front of the mirror, her hands leaning on the sink.

She forgot to breathe for the next minute.

The face that looked back at her through the mirror was not her face at all. The grey eyes that stared back at her were as big as saucers with horror and astonishment. Her eyebrows were not as thick anymore, but more elegant. She had a button-like nose, and small, pink lips, the lower one slightly more puckered. Her facial features were a lot more elegant and sharper. Soft, black hair framed her face like curtains. And the ears… she hadn’t wanted to believe it when she felt it with her fingertips moments ago. They were small like before, but also… slightly pointy.

Pointy.

Nihal screamed.

***

“Eӓrien, get a hold of yourse – where are you going?! Sit down on the bed this instant!” The tall woman, who she noticed also had pointy ears, was standing still while Nihal ran around like a headless chicken.

Nihal was hyperventilating as she paced all over the healer’s ward, mumbling to herself. She stopped abruptly on occasion, ran back to the mirror, screamed again, and ran away from it.

“No no no no… this can’t be happening…” she murmured, hysterical. Then, she rushed back to the woman. “What did you just call me?”

The woman frowned, “Eӓrien. I called you Eӓrien.”

“Eӓrien…” Nihal repeated under her breath. She blinked owlishly at the woman. “W-why? Why are you calling me that?”

“Because that is your name,” said the woman, the look on her face becoming more and more concerned. “Perhaps you’re suffering from a short-term memory loss? Strange… it didn’t look like you hit your head that hard.”

For a long moment, Nihal didn’t speak. She stood very still, her eyes looking at nothing in particular, almost in a haze. The silence was deafening. Then, she slowly turned to the mirror again, looking at her and the woman’s reflection. The height difference was undeniable, as the top of her head was coming to the woman’s shoulder at most.

The woman followed Nihal’s gaze, and she too looked through the mirror, her gaze locking with hers.

“That’s my (her, she thought) name,” Nihal said softly, her voice detached, “Eӓrien.”

Not breaking the eye contact through the mirror, the woman nodded, confirming her with equal softness, “Yes. You’re Eӓrien.”

“And you’re…?”

The tall woman’s brows creased further in worry. “I’m Nerdanel, my child. Lady Nerdanel.”

Only then did Nihal snap her eyes away from the reflection on the mirror to back at her. “You… you’re Nerdanel?” she asked, her eyes wide and her voice barely above a whisper, “Nerdanel, brilliant sculptor, daughter of Mahtan, wife of Fëanor?”

A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as Lady Nerdanel nodded, “That is correct, child. So you do remember me,” then, she raised a brow in surprise, “Though, I’ve never heard of my husband’s name pronounced like that. Not even the Teleri say it thus. A dialect from Tol Eressëa, perhaps?”

Again, Nihal blinked owlishly at Lady Nerdanel. The tall woman had lost her the moment she confirmed who she was. She barely had time to register that she was indeed standing in front of the Mistress of the House of Fëanáro, the brilliant sculptor, the wise, strong and steadfast woman who could keep her husband’s caprices at bay. Nihal’s eyes widened once more, her breath catching. Her mind that had been nothing but a big blank screen ever since she looked at herself through the mirror, was now working a thousand miles a second. Although, her thoughts didn’t even come close to realizing her small slip-up of how she called Fëanáro by his Sindarin name. Her thoughts were more in-line with things like: How was this even possible? She couldn’t believe it. If this was true, if this woman was indeed Nerdanel, then this meant that they were in Valinor. Possibly Tirion. Was this before or after the Exile of the Noldor? Nerdanel had chosen to stay, after all, so Nihal had to ask if she wanted to know… But what should she DO? Tell her that she was not really Eӓrien? That she came from someplace else entirely? Would she even believe her? She was pretty sure she would come off as a madwoman. Her track record with a so-called “head injury” was bad enough as it was. She didn’t want them to think that there was something wrong with her. Because there wasn’t. There wasn’t. Or maybe this was all a dream, or a sick joke that this woman was in on…

“…Eӓrien? What’s wrong, dear?” Nerdanel asked, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. 

Deciding to test at least one of her theories, Nihal pinched herself, hard. She gasped in pain, but then immediately looked up to see if her surroundings would change upon waking up. Her heart sank when she saw that nothing had changed. She was still in the healer’s ward, and Lady Nerdanel was still looking at her with a concerned expression in her grey eyes.

“I… I’m sorry,” Nihal mumbled, casting her eyes downward a little. “It seems like I’m suffering from a… a short-term memory loss or something. Could I ask your ladyship where we are at the moment? And when?”

Lady Nerdanel took a tentative step towards Nihal, slowly extending her hand to hold the young woman’s arm. “Come, let’s have you sit down,” Nihal let her guide to her bed, sitting down next to her abruptly. The elven woman gently took her hands in hers, her brows furrowing more and more as her concern grew. “We’re at year 1395, in Tirion,” she said softly. Nihal could feel the older woman’s eyes fixated on her, gauging her reactions for any sign of recollection. Or was she onto her? Did she realize that Nihal was not actually Eӓrien? What would even happen if she did?

“O-oh…” Nihal uttered awkwardly. “Year 1395.” She had no idea what that meant. She still didn’t know where in the Silmarillion timeline the year corresponded to. “…year of the Trees, right?” she asked insecurely.

“By the Valar. How hard did you hit your head?” Lady Nerdanel’s hands came up to Nihal’s face. When they gently touched her cheeks to turn her head around so that the elven woman could look at it for any signs of physical trauma, Nihal flinched. She could feel her face going hot with embarrassment and shyness. “Strange… I only see a bump. Not even blood.” Nihal jumped when she felt fingers prodding the bump on her head. She held in a hiss of pain as Lady Nerdanel retracted her hands quickly, noticing her distress. She sighed, “Yes, child. It’s 1395 of the Year of the Trees.”

Nihal frowned and nodded slowly. She might not remember the things from the book date by date, but she at least knew when she roughly was. Which didn’t say much, to be frank. She still didn’t know how long they had till the Darkening. Hell, she didn’t even know whether Melkor was still chained or roaming free. All she knew was that this was before the Darkening. If anything, Fëanáro and his sons could still be in exile in Formenos. She knew for a fact that Nerdanel would choose to stay in Tirion…

As these thoughts swirled in her mind like a whirlwind, she barely registered Lady Nerdanel’s firm but worried tone and her hand on her shoulder slowly trying to make her lie down back into the bed. “You should lie down and rest some more until I get a mind healer, Eӓrien. Maybe a maia from the gardens of Lórien should have a look at you. But until then, rest. Try not to sleep, though. We can’t risk it in case this is a case of concussion. Are we clear?”

Nihal opened her mouth to argue that that really isn’t necessary, but one stern look from the lady of the house was enough to make her mouth clop close and have her wilt into the pillows. She nodded minutely her “consent”. Satisfied, Lady Nerdanel stood up, her tall stature captivating Nihal’s eyes. She had an air of authority tinged with care and softness. Nihal could not help but respect and obey it.

“I’ll call a healer and one of the servants to keep you company while I’m gone. Have no fear. They will report to me immediately if anything happens.” Lady Nerdanel said as she stood up, habitually wiping her hands on her apron that hung from her neck all the way to her knees. Nihal realized from her attire that she must’ve been working on an artistic project or something before coming here to visit her. She gave the elf-woman another nod, and tried to smile reassuringly. She was not sure whether the message went across, though, since the worried look in the older elf’s eyes didn’t go away. “I repeat, try not to sleep. Understood?”

“Y-yes M’am,” Nihal rasped. In fact, she had been hoping for the opposite. Maybe, if she fell asleep, she could wake up in her world again. But she knew that she was going to be monitored constantly until Lady Nerdanel came back with a mind healer.

Said people who were to monitor her arrived almost right after Lady Nedanel left the healer’s ward. A servant with white clothes as her uniform rushed to her side as soon as she entered through the doorway. Nihal recognized her as one of the maidens who were there when she first opened her eyes to this world. She had been the one who was trying to defend her to the others. “Young lady Eӓrien, I’ve heard from Lady Nerdanel that you could have a concussion,” she sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. She leaned in closer to the bed and whispered the next words so that the healer, who was preparing some concoctions in a corner presumably for Nihal, didn’t hear, “I honestly don’t know how you pulled it off. Memory loss, huh? That’s a new one. Even she believed you this time!”

Nihal blinked in confusion, “Wha-what do you mean?”

A sly smile appeared on the maiden’s face as she lowered her voice even more. “You can drop the act with me, Eӓrien. It’s alright. You know I won’t rat you out. Have I not helped you get out of situations many times now?

Nihal scoffed incredulously. Just what kind of a person was this Eӓrien? “Look,” she said, her voice a little reproachful, “I don’t know what kind of a scenario you’ve conjured up in your head, but I really don’t remember anything. In fact, I don’t even know who you are.”

The maiden raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed, “Really? Keeping up the act? Even with me? You know I wouldn’t tell on you!”

Nihal rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I’m telling you, that doesn’t mean anything to me because I really, really don’t remember! I’m being serious!” She was hoping to get a little more information out of this servant about the elf whose body she was inhabiting by emphasizing on her “amnesia”. It wasn’t a total lie either, technically.

The silence in the healer’s ward was only broken occasionally as the healer went around the room, seemingly oblivious to the exchange the two were having. The maiden’s big, grey eyes searched hers. Nihal could almost feel her gaze boring into her head. She didn’t break eye-contact, though.

Then, “You really don’t remember a thing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Nihal rolled her eyes exasperatedly, “Yes!”

The maiden straightened in her seat, “…Huh.” Nihal could see that she was still doubtful, but her tone indicated that she was beginning to believe her.

The healer came to her bedside quietly and began examining her, checking her pulse, lifting her lids, slowly tilting her head left and right, and parting her hair to inspect the bump on her head. “It looks like an ordinary bump. There’s no bleeding. You should be fine, but…” he murmured. Then, he straightened, looking Nihal over with a calm, detached look on his face. “Lady Nerdanel has asked me to watch over you until a mind healer arrives.”

Nihal nodded, “Thank you for the care, uh…” she expected him to finish her sentence by saying his name, but he seemed to not have caught onto her ellipsis, so she asked herself, “What’s your name?”

The healer replied with a monotone voice, “Winyavílë.” Nihal blinked. Young, fresh wind. With the deadpan expression on the healer’s face, she really found it difficult to match the name with its bearer. But hey, who was she to judge? She blinked in confusion at her thoughts. How was she even able to know the meaning behind his name anyway? In fact, if she was in Tirion among the Noldor, she was probably speaking to them in Quenya, a language she shouldn’t know or understand in the first place. And yet she was speaking it like it was her mother-tongue. For the hundredth time that day, that one big question spun around her mind: How was any of this even possible?

She shook her head slightly to gather herself. Then, she looked at the healer’s eyes again, “Nice to meet you. My name is Ni – I mean, Eӓrien. Apparently.”

He nodded without missing a beat. Even if he thought she was acting, he didn’t let it show. He rose and walked away to give her and the other elf some space, though he remained close-by.

Nihal turned to the woman sitting at her bedside, “So… who are you?”

The young nís’ eyes widened. Nihal could see moisture gathering around them, “You really don’t remember me?!”

Nihal sighed. This was going to take a while, “Look, it’s not just you. I don’t even know who I am. I mean, I’m Eӓrien, sure,” she tried hard not to cringe as she said that, “but other than that I genuinely do not know who I am or who you are, for that matter.” She saw the young elf’s shoulders droop a little at that. Nihal sagged against the bed as well, frustrated, saddened, and a little unnerved. Then, she reached for the other woman’s hand and quietly said, “I was hoping maybe you could help me with that.”

Her companion looked up in slight surprise, “Help you remember? How?”

“Well…” Nihal trailed. After a brief moment of contemplation, she continued, “You can start by telling me your name and how we met. Then, you could perhaps tell me all you know about me?”

The woman straightened on her chair with new-found energy, and nodded, squeezing Nihal’s hand. “Sounds good. My name is Vórilotsë, and we met within the first week you came here to the palace…”

Chapter Text

The next one-and-a-half hour was spent with a crash-course on Nihal’s identity in this universe, and trying to figure out her place within Fëanáro’s household. Apparently, Lady Nerdanel used to be friends with Eӓrien’s parents, who were extremely free-spirited and radical as well as ancient. Her mother and father had been friends for years before they had decided to wed one another, prioritizing exploring Middle Earth during the Great March. Rumor had it that they could even be among the first 144 elves that woke at the shores of Cuiviénen. Lady Nerdanel used to get along with her mother especially, who was a Noldo, whereas her father was a Teleri. Her mother had stayed with the Teleri when the Vanyar and the Noldor were brought to Valinor by Ulmo. And when the Teleri wanted to continue their journey, they had joined them on Tol Eressëa. Nihal was surprised to learn that her “parents” had stayed there even after Ossë taught the Teleri to build ships and sail to Valinor, choosing instead to wed each other there and settle down on the island among the very few who had decided to stay there like them. It was said that they were torn between their love for the sea, the infinite potential of the Middle Earth, and the safety that Valinor had offered. Nihal could understand their reluctance, to be honest.

But later, after Eӓrien was born in year 1265, her mother wished to see her kin, the rest of the Noldor, and introduce them to her daughter. Her father had remained on the island to wait for them to return. After her arrival at Tirion, she and her mother had stayed there for a hundred years, apparently, given that they were not in a rush after all. Besides, what was a hundred years for an immortal being? Though, Nihal still thought that a hundred years were a little too much to leave her “father” hanging.

During that time, her mother and Nerdanel had become close friends, almost as close as sisters. They had explored Valinor together, sometimes with Fëanáro accompanying them, and taught each other a lot. It was in 1370 that her mother had wanted to return to the island, saying that she was feeling a doom was falling on her and her husband. Taking her daughter with her, she hurriedly set sail to Tol Eressëa, only to learn upon her arrival that her husband had left for Falas. She had wanted to follow him back to Middle Earth, but the moment she had set foot on the ship, she had felt his death. No one knew what had happened to him, only that he had crossed through the gates of Halls of Mandos. Heartbroken, her mother had lost the desire and will to live, and slowly faded within a year, following her husband into one last journey and leaving her daughter alone when she was barely an adult, much to Nihal’s dismay. Perhaps it was because they weren’t really her parents and because she was a human, but she still thought that however much the mother loved her partner, her fading was extremely unfair to Eӓrien. She had essentially left her daughter alone to deal with grief and sorrow all by herself. Not only that, but she had also lost both of her parents subsequently. Something like this must’ve been devastating to someone whether they be an elf or a human. She didn’t know if fading could even be a voluntary choice or an affliction of the heart, but it still sounded incredibly selfish to her. Meanwhile, Nihal tried not to think about the fact that she could be going through this herself right now, given that she was somehow in a completely different world/dream and could potentially never see her own parents and sibling again. She shook her head a little, trying to dispel this thought that pricked at the back of her mind insistently. Now was not the time to process stuff like this.

Anyway. Eӓrien apparently stayed at Tol Eressëa for a while, among the Teleri who had, like her parents, decided to stay there. Upon learning what had happened to Eӓrien’s parents, Nerdanel had insisted on having the young and newly orphaned elf to come to Tirion and live with them, feeling responsible for the daughter of her best friend. Nihal couldn’t help but admire the Noldo princess for taking such a course of action. The knowledge of Nerdanel owning up to Eӓrien’s custody to some degree and taking the orphan under her wing made Nihal respect the woman even more.

And so it was that Nihal (or more accurately Eӓrien) had been living in the palace with the Fëanorians for a few months now, and in that time period she had met Vórilotsë, her “partner in crime” who had been working in the palace as a chambermaid, and the two of them came across each other in one of the occasions when Eӓrien was, again, trying to slack off. Unlike the others, though, Vórilotsë had helped her and even slacked off with her in the gardens.

Eӓrien did have a small estate of her own inherited from her mother while she had been staying in Tirion, but Nihal supposed that the grandeur of the palace had swayed the young and easily impressionable Eӓrien to listen to Lady Nerdanel’s persuasive words and stay with them instead. Nihal couldn’t blame her. She bet that there were no such grand structures or luxurious lifestyles in Tol Eressëa either, so far away from the “all-good” light of Valinor, the literal paradise for elves.

Nihal also learned from Vórilotsë upon asking that she had barely interacted with anyone from the royal family before aside from Lady Nerdanel. Nihal supposed that would make sense since she was technically still not a part of the family, and the palace was huge, so she would rarely come across the princes. And even if she did, it would’ve been easy to avoid them. Nihal was beginning to think, from the other elf’s descriptions, that Eӓrien was an extremely shy person. At least, she appeared to be. The way her friend talked about her indicated that she was a slacker, and she had no “ambition” or a “distinct feature” such as a hobby, a skill-set or something that sets her apart beside her being somewhat of an outcast, being an orphan and all. Nihal couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed towards the elf whose body she was in at the moment. It seemed like Eӓrien had no will to try hard or work towards a passion despite Lady Nerdanel’s best efforts. Right now, status-wise, she was barely above a servant as Lady Nerdanel’s aide, a “stray” that the lady of the household had recently picked up out of well-meaning and perhaps also a little charity and generosity, but nothing more. But she also knew that she had no right to judge. She barely knew anything about this elf, even with the second-hand information she had been given about her. There were still a lot to uncover, certainly. It wasn’t like Vórilotsë knew everything.

She had told Nihal that Eӓrien’s arrival with Lady Nerdanel had made lots of noise in Tirion. Nihal supposed that could be true, since death was considered to be a big issue for the elves living in the “Undying Lands”. Besides, similar to how displaced she was feeling right now (but maybe to a lesser degree), Eӓrien must’ve been feeling like quite the stranger here, unable to adapt swiftly to the change of place and culture. Nihal was still convinced that this whole situation of her being in an elf’s body in Valinor was a dream or a vision from which she was eventually going to wake up, so she was sure that there would be a time that the young elf would feel more comfortable in this novel environment and within her own skin as time passes. She knew that in elven standards, Eӓrien was still relatively young. So she had plenty of time to figure things out.

In theory.

As Vórilotsë brought Nihal up to date, the door to the healer’s ward swung open to reveal Lady Nerdanel, who had another nís in tow. Nihal assumed that she was an elf working under Irmo or Estë in the gardens of Lórien. It would’ve been visible if she were a Maia, certainly… Well, it wasn’t like she was important enough for them to send a Maia of theirs to treat her head. Though, Lady Nerdanel did look like she was frustrated a little.

Vórilotsë hastily got up and stepped back as the two women approached Nihal’s bed. Concern evident in Lady Nerdanel’s voice, she asked her how she was feeling. When Nihal assured her that she was physically fine and that she was not concussed anymore, the mistress of the house gave out a small sigh of relief. Nevertheless, she and the nís who came with her listened to Winyavílë, the elf who had been looking after her before their arrival, intently as he gave his own report as an expert in healing. Vórilotsë hovered at the back with a worried expression on her face.

At last, the nís from the gardens walked up to Nihal and did a thorough physical examination, touching and prodding at the bump on her head. Nihal endured it through gritted teeth, as annoyed as she was. Then, the healer did something unexpected. She gently placed her hands on either side of Nihal’s face. Nihal could feel her cool fingers brushing her temple. Her breath hitched as she felt something foreign prod against her mind. This was an entirely new and uncanny experience for her. She was a human, damn it. Humans in her world didn’t do ósanwë or whatever the hell the healer was doing to her mind. There had been no such thing as telepathic communication. At least, not like this. Naturally, Nihal panicked. She had been so used to have her thoughts belonging only to her, so she found the whole experience intruding and uncalled for. She reeled as her eyes darted around in discomfort. “Try to relax,” said the nís calmly. Nihal was barely able to contain her annoyance at the audacity this healer had in trying to barge into her mind without asking for permission or giving a warning at least. This whole concept was new to her, and although the people in the room didn’t know that, she felt it unfair that she was asked to do this when she didn’t even understand it herself. She didn’t even know how to close off her mind to others, nevermind sharing it with them.

The healer blinked in confusion as she felt around Nihal’s jumbled thoughts and emotions, and her scrambling to close off her mind to her. “I cannot make sense of any of your thoughts…you seem to be inexperienced in the art of ósanwë. That, or you simply have difficulty in recalling this ability because of your concussion. You could’ve forgotten the technique like your memories.”

Nihal’s face turned beet red. She could feel her cheeks and the tip of her ears burning, “Er… I guess?” she said meekly.

The healer sighed, “If there’s a part of your mind that you don’t wish for me to see, you can just imagine a door when I prod at it, alright?” Nihal nodded mutely, and closed her eyes, her breath shaky as she tried to concentrate. Immediately, almost everything was blocked to the unsuspecting healer, who grunted in frustration. She did grant her access to her recent memories, though. From the moment she had opened her eyes to this world until now. When the nís tried to prod onto anything before that, she came across an empty field, much to both her and Nihal’s dismay. Nihal herself had been hoping to see at least a snippet of what had actually happened. But no, this examination had been nothing but a disappointment for both of them. The healer from the gardens stepped back from her, and have out a long, thoughtful sigh.

“Well?” Lady Nerdanel asked. She had been watching the exchange from the sidelines.

The healer shrugged, “There seems to be no serious damage to her mind or her fëa, aside from a major memory loss. I couldn’t find anything from before the time she woke up after hitting her head. I think it best to just wait until her memories come back. Otherwise, though, she’s fine. However…” the healer murmured, deep in thought, “I’ve never seen someone struggling this much with ósanwë, even with mental ailments. I can usually have full access, but…”

“I’m alright, really.” Nihal interjected. “I just… I’m not used to it, is all.” She smiled a little in reassurance. “I’m sure my memories will come back at some point. And I feel just fine. No concussion or anything.”

She felt herself tense under their worried scrutiny. Then, Winyavílë broke the contemplative silence with his calm and collected voice, “I can have her check into the healer’s ward regularly. That way, I can monitor her progress and detect if something goes wrong.”

Lady Nerdanel sighed. Nihal noticed that her fists were clenched. Did she say something wrong?

“Is there no way for a Maia to take a look at her?”

The nís shook her head, “Since hers is not a life-threatening situation, there’s no need.”

Lady Nerdanel seemed visibly upset at this. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, then shook her head, her hands on her hips, “I reckon one has to be royalty or a loyal servant of the Valar to get their attention these days,” she said accusingly. The heavy words hung in the air, and no one said a thing. The healer looked anywhere but at the lady of the household. Nihal couldn’t help but smile slightly at Lady Nerdanel being outraged on her behalf, however small of a reaction that may have been. She appreciated her concern. And, if she were honest, the elf-woman reminded her of her own human mother with her fierceness. She pushed down the sharp pain that she suddenly felt upon remembering her mother, and the possibility of never seeing her again.

“I’m fine,” Nihal said softly, “I’ll check in regularly, don’t worry.” Lady Nerdanel sighed tiredly, then looked at her. Nihal didn’t avoid her silver gaze, but gave her a big smile that she hoped would put her mind at ease. She was genuine, although she was hiding the weight of a whole other world beneath her gaze. Lady Nerdanel held her gaze for a few moments, her eyes searching for something God knows what. In the end, though, she seemed to have been convinced by Nihal’s reassurance.

She nodded. Then, with a firm voice that couldn’t quite conceal her worry, she said “You are to check in with Healer Winyavílë every day for the next twelve days, is that understood?”

Nihal’s eyes widened. Wasn’t twelve days a little too extreme? “Twelve days?! Isn’t that a little…” but then she saw sorrow evident in the older woman’s eyes, and she paused in her protest. Right, she thought, Eӓrien’s mother was her friend. She must be feeling extra responsible for me right now. No need to worry her further.

So, she nodded her head, “I’ll do as you say.”

Lady Nerdanel visibly relaxed. Then, she turned to the others, “I ask you all to leave us alone,” She looked at Vórilotsë and Winyavílë as she said that. Then, she turned to the nís from the gardens of Lórien. “You may leave as well. Thank you for your service, however little it has been,” she added pointedly. The healer nodded sagely without missing a beat, giving a slight bow and leaving swiftly, but without appearing to be in any hurry. With one last look at Nihal, Vórilotsë followed her out. After a few moments of shuffling around the healer’s ward, arranging instruments and bottles of medicine, Winyavílë went out as well. It was only Nihal and Lady Nerdanel now.

The peaceful silence was only broken by the beautiful chirping of the birds outside in the gardens, seeping in through the windows and carried inside with the flowing white curtains.

Then, a deep, but tired sigh, “What am I going to do with you, Eӓrien?” Lady Nerdanel asked softly, the worry about her situation and her previous panicked tantrum still evident in her eyes. There was also a hint of something else in her voice as well, which made Nihal’s heart ache, much to her confusion. “I was hoping that you would find your place within this household sooner or later. I just… I just don’t want to leave you alone. But the situation hasn’t improved much since…” she stopped herself and clenched her fists. Long, able fingers closed in on her palm with a force enough to make her knuckles white. “I’m worried about you, Eӓrien. Very much. And… I don’t know how else to help you.” Nihal’s heart clenched at her sincere tone. She didn’t even know this woman, yet all she wanted was to reach out to her, hold her hand and comfort her as if she wanted to comfort her own mother.

She bit her lip. Then, she said in a quiet, yet determined voice, “I’m fine. I’ll… I’ll do my best from now on.” She didn’t want to promise anything. This was a dream-world after all, and she was going to leave it eventually, right? So, there was no point in making any promises she cannot keep. Yet, she wanted to try her best to set the other woman’s mind at ease. “I may not remember much, but I’m a fast learner, and I can adapt. I WILL adapt.”

Lady Nerdanel lifted her gaze and looked deep into her eyes. Then, Nihal saw them widen as realization came upon her. The older woman reached to grasp her hand, “How about you start working as my apprentice, or my assistant? That way, I can keep a relatively good eye on you, and you wouldn’t be alone or without guidance. What say you, Eӓrien?”

Nihal suspected that Lady Nerdanel was also aware of Eӓrien’s little escapades to the garden to slack off, aside from the fact that she was having trouble to find herself in this foreign city. She wanted to be the disciplining and nurturing factor in Eӓrien’s life, and also support her and look out for her whenever she needed it. Nihal ignored the sting in her eyes upon seeing a soul who genuinely cared about her in this world in a near motherly way.

Which was why she said “Yes.”

Chapter Text

After the whole ordeal in the healer’s ward, Nihal was escorted back to her room by Lady Nerdanel, who insisted that she took the day off and rest until dinner. Nihal didn’t object to that much. She was indeed feeling tired and sleepy. Perhaps a little nap before dinner could help her clear her mind and remember. Or better yet, wake up from this dream. Lady Nerdanel remained at the threshold of the room as Nihal stepped in and gave her a tired smile of reassurance before they said their temporary goodbyes and Lady Nerdanel closed the door, leaving the young woman alone with her thoughts.

Nihal looked around and surveyed her surroundings. The room was simply decorated, with a window that looked out at the gardens. She slowly walked over to it. The latches opened with a soft click, and the windowpane slid upwards smoothly. Taking a deep breath, she stuck her head out. She appeared to be on the second or third floor. She was high enough to see a great portion of the inner palace garden, where gardeners with bright green uniforms walked around and spoke to one another in pleasantly calm voices. What they were saying to each other Nihal could hardly hear. However, she was also close enough to the ground that she could only see the garden and not the city. She imagined that the crown prince and his sons occupied rooms within the highest levels of the palace, having a nice, almost bird’s eye view at the whole Tirion and the palace grounds. She wondered how big the palace actually was. So far, she had only seen two of its rooms: hers and the healer’s ward. If this really was a dream, it was very damn realistic. She sighed in frustration. There was so much to explore, to memorize. But then again, she had to assume that her stay here was temporary, so it was better not to get too caught up in it and form attachments to anything or anyone.

She lifted her head towards the sky, half-expecting to feel the sun’s glaring light assaulting her eyes. But it wasn’t there. The brightness in the sky was unfamiliarly pleasant. Soft golden hue mixed with a little silver that intensified in the direction of the west. Nihal never imagined to see the sky with this color combination. It felt alien, and yet the way the Trees glowed had a natural beauty to it, as if it had always been this way. As if they hadn’t been created by Yavanna and just existed ever since the world had first been created. As if they were a part of this world’s order, much like how the sun and the moon had been in Nihal’s world. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. Unfortunately, Nihal wasn’t in the state of mind to ponder over it or put it into words. She was tired, and she needed rest.

Yawning, she stepped away from the window, but didn’t close it. The breeze was pleasant enough to leave it open. She proceeded to look around her room. There was a small, wooden table and a chair next to the window. A few papers, notebooks and a quill occupied it. Nihal took one of the notebooks and went through its pages to see them all empty. If anything, both the table and its occupants looked hardly used.

Turning her back to the window, she stood facing the door. To her right was the bed, which looked surprisingly roomy. Nihal assumed that the standard beds of elves would be bigger than those of humans, since they were physically taller most of the time, especially those who live in Valinor under the holy light of the trees. There was a small bedside table with a few drawers. On the table, stood a strange metal cylinder with intricate and elegant glyphs at the sides and a handle at the top propped up on a tiny, wooden platform. Nihal made a mental note to check that out once she finished exploring the room.

To her left, there was a lacquered wooden wardrobe that had intricate designs painted on them. Swallows maneuvering through vines, flowers coloring the bottom. She walked over to it and opened its two doors wide to check inside. A couple of white dress-like clothes that Nihal assumed were nightgowns hung within, along with a travel outfit and plain but elegant clothes that were a little similar to that of a servant’s. A shirt and a skirt around which was tied an apron. A simple outfit for work. She wondered how often elves needed to change and wash their clothes. Did they get dirty often? She assumed they didn’t sweat as much as humans did. She snorted and shook her head at the ridiculous thought of elven sweat, pee and poop smelling like flowers. Given her new body, Nihal supposed she would soon find that out for herself. She closed the wardrobe with a chuckle.

Next, she turned to the door to its right. She turned the doorknob and opened it to reveal a small, but elegant bathroom/toilet. The small tub, the washbasin and the lavatory were all made of carved marble. Nihal raised an incredulous brow as she stepped inside. On the one hand, she knew that she shouldn’t be this surprised. The elves here lived with their gods in literal paradise. Of course they would’ve figured out the plumbing. She let out a soft scoff as she turned on the tap, and observed as cool water began to pour out of it. She turned it off and lifted her gaze upwards to find herself staring at her reflection through a glass mirror that hung just above the sink. Unable to get used to the way she looked, Nihal blinked slowly multiple times, turning her head left and right to take in her new appearance. Pale face, long, black hair, grey eyes, elegant eyebrows, button nose, small and pointy ears. Needless to say, it was an improvement from her human self, more or less. Though she did miss her short, chest-nut hair. All the elven-maids that she had seen so far, including Lady Nerdanel, were wearing elaborate braids. Having never spent so much time on her hair after her teenage years, Nihal wasn’t sure if she could find the energy or the will to try to style her hair like them. For now, though, her hair hung loose, long black curtains framing her face with a darkness that contrasted her white skin. So smooth, she thought as she touched her face with her fingertips. Elves were immune to infection or any kinds of bodily diseases, so she supposed pimples were off the table.

Sighing, she stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Questions regarding the elven bodies could wait. She was extremely tired, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Her exhaustion surprised her a little. From what she gathered, she had been slacking off in the garden when the servants found her. Apart from the “concussion” that she had no memory over, she should’ve been fine. Ask questions later, she thought again as she shuffled her way to the bed.

As she sat down onto the mattress, the cylinder on the bedside table caught her attention once again. She reached over and took it into her hands, and began her superficial examination, turning it this way and that. The metal felt thin but upon applying pressure with her hand, it didn’t bend. There were some strange mechanisms at the top, though. Just below the handle. On the thin, light grey metal, intricate carvings of stars and constellations were visible. “What the hell is this thing? Just a fancy trinket?” she muttered as she traced her fingers on its edges. Then, it hit her.

This could be a lamp.

An image of an oil lamp with a closed lid appeared in her mind.

Her exhaustion momentarily forgotten, she lifted the cylinder in front of her face and inspected its every surface for something that could set the mechanism off, like a switch. She did find a small metal arm that could be slid alongside a wide slot. Upon pushing it along with her finger, the metal cylinder slid to the side to reveal the soft but strong blue light emanating from within a white crystal. She almost dropped the lamp in surprise, her breath caught at the sight of the invaluable gemstone that slightly hurt her eyes.

The crystal looked as if it was burning with an inner flame, emanating a soft but powerful blue flame. Nihal ran her fingers along the crystal’s edges, looking at the flame that was too far buried into the crystal to burn her. But it did give out a little warmth that was surprisingly soothing. She could not help but give out an impressed “Whoa”. For a world in which there was no such thing as cultivation of electricity, she was thoroughly impressed. But then, she reminded herself that she was in Valinor, and this was the House of Fëanáro. She was under the roof of the genius inventor, linguist, scientist and artist. And this thing she was holding, she realized, could very well be a Fëanorian lamp.

Chuckling, she shook her head. This was surreal. A damn realistic dream. She could feel the weight of the lamp in her hands, and the warmth it was radiating. She could see its blue glow as well, throbbing almost like a heartbeat. She lifted her gaze and looked at the wall in front of her, a sudden numbness overcoming her mind and making it short-circuit for a few seconds. She could feel the panic and despair looming just behind the serene restraint of her unprocessed emotions. She didn’t want to delve deep into them right now. She had no energy to deal with the possibility of this not being a dream, and that she was really there, in a room within a palace in Tirion.

Instead, she decided to focus on more immediate matters.

Like how to turn the damn crystal off.

She vaguely remembered reading about Fëanorian lamps. They could not be extinguished by neither water nor wind. Unless destroyed, it would just continue to shine. The only thing that could block the light was the metal cylinder, which she did by sliding the small metal bump in its socket to the opposite direction. The metal covered the crystal entirely, and the blue light disappeared. It was not extinguished, just hidden.

Shaking her head in a mixture of exasperation and amusement, she put the lamp back onto the bedside table. She walked over to the wardrobe and grabbed one of the sleeping gowns. Throwing her work-clothes onto the chair nearby, she put the gown over her head while she walked back to the bed. Eyes already beginning to close, she slid into the covers. She was asleep seconds before her head hit the pillow.

******

She was woken by an insistent knock on her door. Nihal opened her eyes groggily and sat up on her bed, smacking her lips and blowing her hair away from her face. She didn’t recognize the room at first, not remembering where she was. Once she did, her brows furrowed in confusion. She was still here? How could a dream continue even after losing consciousness?

But she didn’t have time to dwell on these things. Whoever was behind the door was not going to leave without an answer. She threw the cover off her legs and scrambled to wear her boots. “Coming!” she yelled at her stubborn visitor. The knocking ceased upon her shout.

Nihal ran to the door and swung it open, still in her nightgown, to find Lady Nerdanel waiting for her.  “M-my lady,” Nihal said, dropping her gaze with a slight blush on her face. She wasn’t sure if she could get used to seeing actual fictional characters right in front of her, flesh and bone.

“Hello, dear,” Lady Nerdanel said, her voice slightly authoritative but also soft. “I apologize if I disturbed your sleep. I was wondering how you were faring. Also, it is almost time for dinner, and I would like you to join me and my son this time, if you’re comfortable.”

Dinner? Nihal furrowed her brows and turned to look out the window, half expecting to see a dark sky. Instead, she found the sky having taken a soft, golden-orange hue that almost looked like a sunset. But it lacked the diversity in color. She couldn’t help but miss all the yellows and pinks and purples and blues that came with it.

She turned back to her mistress. For a few seconds, Nihal didn’t know what to say. All she did was open and close her mouth like a fish out of water. Then, she managed to stutter, “I… uh… I wouldn’t want to impose…”

Lady Nerdanel shook her head firmly, “Nonsense. I would not have asked you otherwise. Besides, it’s going to be just you, me, and my fourth son Carnistir.”

Nihal blinked a few times as the elven lady’s words registered. So it wasn’t going to be the entire family. She couldn’t help but feel a little relieved upon hearing that. Meeting all of the seven sons of Fëanor at once would make her have an aneurism even if it was a dream. She couldn’t imagine how nervous she would be, knowing them and their future deeds.

“O-oh…” Nihal uttered. She was still unsure, but the expectant look on Lady Nerdanel’s face somehow managed to convince her that this would help set the older woman’s mind at ease. Besides, it was only her and Carnistir, whom she had never met before and barely knew anything about even with her knowledge from the Silmarillion. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a meal, Nihal thought. With an unsure tone, she at last murmured, “Alright. When are we eating?”

The older nís smiled warmly. Nihal couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment, as if she had just given her the correct answer. “Right away. I came here to fetch you. Had you refused, I would have told the servants to bring some food to your chambers after checking up on you.”

“I see,” Nihal could only say. Was it too late to cancel the dinner plans?

“I will be waiting for you here. Go and change your gown, but you don’t need to bother with wearing anything fancy. It’s just a dinner between us.” Lady Nerdanel said calmly. Nihal nodded mutely and slowly closed the door.

For a moment, she just stood there, her back leaning against the door. She could feel her cheeks burning from trepidation. Her mind was strangely blanked out for a few seconds before anxious thoughts started to bombard her. What do I do now? I’m about to have dinner with THE Lady Nerdanel and her son Caranthir – I mean, Morifinwë Carnistir. Oh God, I should’ve refused! What if they realize that I’m not Eӓrien? I should’ve stayed out of sight and out of mind…

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself down. What was done was done. She had to go to that dinner. Besides, it was just one son of Fëanor. Not even a kinslayer yet. She won’t be alone with him either. His mother was going to be with them.

She stepped away from the door, slowly but surely. Heading for the chair she had thrown her work clothes on, she took off her gown and quickly wore her practical, baggy trousers with apron on. It looked clean enough. Then, she put on her white shirt that was simple but elegantly cut. It wasn’t anything boisterous, and Nihal decided that she liked it.

While she was looking for something to tie her hair with – because by God it was long, and she was sure as hell that it would get in the way while she’s trying to eat – she continued to think about her current situation. What would even happen if they knew who I am? Would they even believe me? I mean, magic IS a thing in this world but THIS… Would they not try to help me, at least? I’m sure they would want the old Eӓrien back… She looked around her chambers, eyes searching and hands groping. Although, they might not believe me… Eӓrien – I mean, I – had a concussion after all. But what if they notice that the memories aren’t coming back? Would they send me to the gardens? Would that be better? Maybe they could actually help me there… Or should I just fake it till I make it? Can I even keep this up? How do I stay out of trouble? …

Thoughts circling her head, she quickly went over to the bathroom. Opening the cupboards one by one, she at last found a simple wooden box that contained pearls and a modest amount of jewelry. Putting all of those aside, Nihal hurriedly continued to look for anything that could potentially keep her hair at bay. Finally, she pulled out a ribbon and a few simply ornated hairclips. Good enough. She clumsily tied her hair into a ponytail with the ribbon. She huffed as a few strands escaped from her grasp and fell forward. Oh how she would gladly give one of her pearls in that box for a simple hair-band. She collected the rebel-strands into her hand and pulled them all back from her face with one of the hairclips.  Checking her reflection one last time through the mirror, she rushed to the door. She hoped she didn’t make Lady Nerdanel wait for too long.

The older woman was waiting for her on the other side, leaning against the wall opposite Nihal’s chambers. She lifted her gaze once she saw Nihal emerge from her chambers, and a small smile fell onto her lips. Gesturing to her attire, she said, “You’ve always been one for practicality, just like me and your mother.”

Nihal froze for a moment, her mind going blank again. Nervously chuckling, she absently brought a hand to her hair, fingers grazing over her makeshift ponytail and hairclip. “Heh, right… Thank you, my lady.” She assumed her way of addressing the mistress of the house was appropriate, as Lady Nerdanel made no attempt to correct her or address it any way. Even if she thought it strange, she didn’t let it show.

Nodding in satisfaction, Lady Nerdanel said, “Let us go, then. Follow me.”

Nihal followed behind her silently, never stepping ahead of her. She didn’t know these halls anyway, so she took care to properly look around her surroundings to remember the way back to her chambers. Aside from that, though, the castle interior was getting most of her attention. The walls were made of white marble that was carved elegantly with various designs at doors, gates, and windows. Blue and black veins on the stones looked by design instead of accidental, as if they were there in that shape on purpose. All of the pieces fit perfectly, and Nihal bet that the surface felt smooth and cool to the touch. The brightness of the white stones didn’t hurt her eyes either. The soft color was pleasant to the eye, healing even.

The walls were adorned with painted pictures of beautiful landscapes that were almost life-like. It was as if she was looking out the window to different worlds every few steps. Nihal could almost feel the cool wind of the misty mountains in one picture, and from another hear the sound of the waves crashing into the rocks. Some paintings were a little bit more abstract, though. They possessed an extra layer of creativity and imagination instead of the aim to depict a one-to-one likeness to real life views. The color of the sky was strange in one, for example. It reminded Nihal of sunsets. Though the sun was not present, the clouds were colored purple, dark blue, pink and orange. The vibrant colors were spread out quite chaotically, each of them fighting for dominance. They weren’t laid out in a pattern, and some color combinations were highly unusual, making the painting stand out among its life-like brethren. She found it strange to come across something like this here, since sunsets were not a thing yet.

As they weaved their way through the castle corridors, Nihal could not help but ask, “The paintings on the walls are lovely. Who is the artist?”

Turning to her slightly with a small smile on her face, Lady Nerdanel replied, “I painted some of them. Like the southern mountains of Pelóri and that small bay in Alqualondë.”

“I see,” Nihal murmured, her voice indicating that she was thoroughly impressed.

After a beat of silence, Lady Nerdanel said, “I can take you to those places, if you want. They really are as beautiful as I depicted in the paintings. If not more.”

Nihal turned to the mistress of the house fully, eyes wide, “You would?”

The older woman chuckled, “Of course, child. You can come with us on our next family expedition. Or, if you prefer, we can go there just the two of us.”

Unable to contain her excitement, Nihal allowed a grin to appear on her face, “I’d like that very much.”

Mirroring her mood, Lady Nerdanel nodded firmly, “It’s settled, then.”

As they continued to walk, Nihal couldn’t help but point at the painting with the colorful sky, “That’s a strange one. I’m curious about the choice of colors.”

Lady Nerdanel’s face took a proud expression upon Nihal’s mention of the painting. “Ah. That you will have to ask my eldest son Maitimo, for he was the one who’s painted it.”

Nihal’s brows shot up in surprise. This was new. “He paints?” Up until now, all Nihal knew of the eldest son of Fëanor – aside from the plot – was that he was a good fighter, general, tactician and diplomat. She certainly hadn’t known that he had an artistic side. But then again, even before she came to this world, she had had a feeling that the Silmarillion was a pretty one-sided, and she daresay, biased book that nitpicked and even possibly glossed over some facts. Her lack of knowledge was not surprising in that regard. The Silmarillion itself was an in-universe book after all, which meant that it was going to be written by an elf at some point as a semi-historical semi-lyrical text that would document the happenings of the first ages of Arda.

Lady Nerdanel nodded, “Occasionally, yes. He picked it up after I taught him. He sculpts as well, when he has time from attending to the court matters.”

“Fascinating.” Nihal mumbled, impressed by both the new information and the painting. She wasn’t sure if she would have the mental courage to ask the prince in person if the opportunity ever presented itself, but that didn’t stop her from admiring the extraordinary painting.

The rest of the walk towards the dining hall went in a comfortable, contemplative silence. As they approached the gate that led to the royal family’s dining hall, Nihal was once again reminded that she was about to have dinner with Lady Nerdanel AND one of her sons, Caranthir. Carnistir Morifinwë, Nihal corrected herself mentally. She needed to be careful not to accidentally speak out their Sindarin names. It was much too early for that, and it would make her seem odd. Nihal couldn’t help but give out a little nervous sigh. She was not familiar with the naming customs of the elves, as in she didn’t know which name of the several was the official and safe one to use. How was she to address the princes? Well, I guess I’ll just have to pay attention and listen.

Lady Nerdanel pushed the winged doors open, and they stepped inside the dining hall. Nihal’s eyes immediately went for the young elf sitting at the table, waiting for them. The knowledge that she was about to meet a son of Fëanor made her anxiety spike a little again. Just like the first time she met Lady Nerdanel, she found this moment quite surreal. And yet here he was, sitting at the table with his arms crossed, one finger tapping impatiently. His dark, long hair was falling neatly onto his shoulder. He had sharp, but elegant features, and Nihal couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly upon seeing that he had indeed inherited his mother’s ruddy complexion. In fact, it could be said that it was even more intense than Lady Nerdanel’s. It gave him a permanent blush, and made his features even sharper.

“Ah, Carnistir. You’re here already.” Lady Nerdanel greeted her fourth son with an upbeat yet authoritative tone.

Upon noticing Nihal and Lady Nerdanel come in, he got off from his seat to greet them appropriately, “Hello, Mother.”

Lady Nerdanel gazed at both Nihal and Carnistir as she gestured in an introductory way, “Eӓrien, this is my fourth son, Morifinwë Carnistir. Son, this is my ward Eӓrien.”

As they took their seats at the table, with Lady Nerdanel to Nihal’s left and Carnistir to her opposite, the fourth son of Fëanor said, “Yes, I know, mother. We’re already acquainted.”

His mother said in a serious tone, “That may very well be, but Eӓrien is currently suffering from amnesia.”

Carnistir’s brows shot up in slight surprise, “Is that so?” he asked, looking at Nihal as if looking for confirmation.

Nihal nodded, confident because she was partially telling the truth. She really did not remember him. Lady Nerdanel supported her verbally by saying “Indeed. She had a concussion earlier today. She couldn’t recognize anyone when she first woke.”

As the servants brought in the food, Carnistir looked at Nihal with a curious glint in his eyes, “I see. So I assume you don’t remember meeting me, or any of my brothers?”

Nihal shook her head, “Nope. Nothing. For me, this is our first meeting. Is there anything I should remember from the previous time?” She hoped real Eӓrien was not as socially awkward as Nihal had been back in her youth in her own world.

Carnistir shrugged, “Not really. We met once before, and I barely saw you again after that.”   

Nihal looked down at the food in front of her. It was soup. A classic opener that never failed, as her mother would often say. As if trying to shove the thoughts relating to her other life away, she lifted her gaze abruptly back up and said, “Well, that’s a shame. We are all living in the same house after all. Might as well get to know each other a little better, right, your Highness?” Nihal said, hoping that her tone came across as light and her attitude easy-going. Upon seeing him blink rapidly in confusion, she quickly added, “I mean, from what I’ve gathered about the time before I lost my memories, I hardly know anyone here. And what better way to remedy that by beginning with my surroundings, right? The more I know about this place and its people, the better, even if I don’t become friends with all of them.”

After a beat of silence, Nihal’s eyes darted to the older nís to see her reaction. Her heart did a little nervous flip upon seeing Lady Nerdanel’s eyes to be widened with mild shock. Her expression soon turned into that of a proud one. “I tend to agree. You need to know your surroundings, and that includes the people. And who knows, your memories might thus come back to you.”

Nihal gave out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. For a moment, she thought she had said something wrong or addressed the prince incorrectly. She smiled at the mistress of the household appreciatively, nodding along with her in understanding. As they ate their soup – which coincidentally was tomato-soup, Nihal’s favorite – Lady Nerdanel said, “I must admit, though. Your attitude and personality have taken a complete turn since the incident.”

Nihal chuckled nervously, her eyes darting between mother and son, “Really? How so?”

“Well, you used to be a lot more shy, for one. More timid.” Carnistir said quite blandly. “At least, that’s the impression I got upon meeting you.”

“Carnë,” came the warning tone of Lady Nerdanel from across the table. But Nihal shook her head, and smiled reassuringly at both of them.

“It’s quite alright. I must admit, I did feel shy upon meeting the people here, but you have to understand that one does not meet a royalty every day. It’s quite the pressure to always think about what to say or not to say to them.”

“And now you know better?” asked the young elven prince, raising a brow. When he saw his mother’s scathing look from the corner of his eye, he involuntarily winced a little. Nihal had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling. She made a humming sound to appear as if thinking to cover it.

“It’s not that I know better, but I’ve decided to take the risk to learn, so to speak. And learning means making mistakes along the way. It’s only natural.” She turned her head to the mistress of the house sitting beside her, and gave her the best tentative, polite, good-girl smile she could manage. “I trust that you will correct me if I say anything wrong. It would be better than staying ever mute, don’t you think?” Communication. Nihal figured that at some point she would have to find a way to fearlessly ask questions about even the simplest things without raising suspicions. The fact that Eӓrien was relatively new to this place and that she had a recent “concussion” proved to be the perfect cover for that. Besides, who knew for how long she would be stuck in this (dream)world. Might as well make the most of it and have some fun. It was no time for social anxiety or cowardice. In this context, her mistakes would hardly matter.

“I know how overwhelming it could be to suddenly start living in a royal setting,” Lady Nerdanel said softly, nodding in confirmation, “and I am glad that you aren’t afraid to make mistakes for the sake of adapting. I will not say that it won’t be challenging, but there would be no progress at all if there were no mistakes along the way. It is… quite refreshing to see you take the initiative in this.” Nihal couldn’t help with the warmth that slowly blossomed in her chest at the mistress’ praise. She also realized that Lady Nerdanel must have gone through a similar phase herself, for she had married into a royal house all those years ago. Nihal remembered having read about how Fëanor had chosen her over a-many royal ladies of the court, a commoner nís whose father, Mahtan, worked under the Vala Aulë. Still not a bad status, Nihal thought. They had probably met during his apprenticeship under the skilled blacksmith.  

As roasted duck with boiled potatoes were served as the main dish, Lady Nerdanel said, “Why don’t you tour the palace tomorrow, Eӓrien? My son could show you around, isn’t that right, Carnistir?”

Said elf cleared his throat to hide his displeasure and opened his mouth to say, “I am actually quite busy, mother –”

“I wouldn’t want to impose, Milady. I could just ask… uh… the nís who was with me at the healer’s ward this morning. I think she was my friend –” said Nihal hastily at the same time as Carnistir.

But Lady Nerdanel was having none of it. She shook her head and held out her hand sternly for both of them to stop. Thus, their ramblings came to an abrupt end. She first turned to Nihal, “Vórilotsë is quite busy during the day. So no, she cannot escort you. I, too, have quite a few projects I need to get back to at the workshop.” She turned towards her son and raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I know for a fact that you’re taking a break from your studies, conveniently timing it with the hunting expeditions with the excuse of working on private projects.”

“Hunting expeditions?” Nihal couldn’t help but ask.

“My father and my brothers go on them occasionally, to hunt and to do some mining,” Caranthir replied with a sigh and an eyeroll, clearly expressing his ennui towards said actions.

“I take it that you don’t enjoy outdoors, my Prince?” Nihal asked, a smile appearing on her face.

“It’s not that I don’t like hunting, per se, but it’s not a fixed hobby,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, it gets a little tedious to tolerate and deal with the chaos my brothers wreak in these expeditions.”

“So they have gone hunting this time as well?” Both the mother and her son nodded in unison. “Then didn’t we eat a little early? Maybe we should’ve waited for them?” Nihal wasn’t overly fond of the idea of meeting Fëanor and the rest of his sons right away, and despite her efforts to keep her voice even and unbothered, she could hear her trepidation subtly leaking through her words.

“No, dear. They are usually gone for a while. They will be back in seven days, approximately,” said Lady Nerdanel.

“Seven days more for rest and relaxation from family, then.” Nihal said, a little smirk appearing on her face as she looked up from her food towards Carnistir. Then, she tilted her head to the side in contemplation. “Well, almost 7 days. Will you be so kind to spare me some time to show me around, my Prince? I will be out of your hair after that if you want me to, I promise.” Her tone was light, but not condescending. She had an extremely introverted sibling back in her world, so she knew how much they valued their privacy and time alone to themselves. Of course, just because she understood them, didn’t mean she could always tolerate them. However, she did practice patience with them occasionally.

The prince frowned in confusion. “What do you mean ‘Out of my hair’?” he demanded.

“Hmm?” Nihal’s stomach dropped a little. She almost entirely forgot the half-finished duck piece on her plate. Did she say something wrong? Was she disrespectful? Then, a thought occurred to her. “Oh, are you asking the meaning of the statement?” When the elf nodded, she said “It means I will not bother you anymore. It’s a… a saying from where I came, is all.” She presumed that this saying hadn’t existed in this world. Until now, that is.

“And a strange one at that, certainly,” said Lady Nerdanel, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t remember your mother ever saying such a thing. Though, I am well aware that there are many differences in speaking between Aman and Tol Eressëa.”

“Y-yeah… M-maybe it was quite a recent one,” Nihal tried to cover with a shrug of her shoulder. Even if they were suspicious, the mother and son didn’t show. They continued with their dinner in pleasant everyday talk. Nihal mostly listened as the two of them interacted. They talked about their projects, and their upcoming schedule once the other members of the family are back. In the meantime, Nihal got lost in her own thoughts. She wondered about how she came here, and how all of this seemed surreal and real at the same time. She heard the clinking of the tableware, and the distant conversation between Lady Nerdanel and Caran – Carnistir, she could taste the roasted duck, and see everything in vivid detail. Too vivid for her liking, if she had to be honest. She had been using glasses for the majority of her life, so suddenly not needing them anymore was a bit disconcerting, to say the least. Also, her sense of hearing had significantly improved. She could hear the servants walking around beyond the sounds of the conversation at their table, and even hear the rustle of the trees from the wind outside.

“…. about this, Eӓrien?” she heard Lady Nerdanel speak, the eerie silence that came after the question startling Nihal out of her state of contemplation. It took her a while to realize that she was talking to her. This whole new name concept had started to confuse her.

“Uh… about what, my Lady?” she asked, lifting her face and looking at the elder nís sitting beside her, her eyes blinking with confusion.

The Mistress of the house looked at her with a concerned expression on her face. “Perhaps you ought to get some rest after dinner, dear.”

Nihal nodded abruptly, “I will, my Lady, have no fear. But… what is it that you were asking me again? I apologize, my thoughts have wondered away…”

Lady Nerdanel pursed her lips, and regarded her charge with uncertainty. Then, she gave out a small sigh, and seemed to decide to continue. “I was asking how you are feeling about your upcoming apprenticeship with me. I was just telling Carnistir about it.”

Nihal’s eyes darted at the fourth son of Fëanor, who was silently looking at her with a raised brow, a slightly bored expression on his face. “I… I look forward to it,” Nihal managed to say, turning back towards the nís. “I don’t know if I’ll pick up the craft or not, but I’d like to think that I could at least help you out in the workshop.”

The matriarch of the House of Fëanor waved her hand dismissively, “You do not have to worry yourself about that. There is no pressure to like or master sculpting. You could always try other things. And I always appreciate the extra help in the workshop. After you are trained properly for it, of course,” she added at the last second. Nihal had the impression that Lady Nerdanel was an extremely disciplined and orderly person when it came to work, with a strict schedule and workshop rules. She wasn’t going to lie to herself and say that she wasn’t intimidated, but it was always better to work with someone who gives clear instructions and is predictable in the sense that they have a certain program. That is, if her assumptions about the older nís were right. I guess I’ll find out soon enough, Nihal mused inwardly. If I somehow do not get out of this world by then. There were certainly worse dreams to get stuck in.

But for now, Nihal opted to pay more attention to those who were sitting at the table with her. Carnistir mostly looked indifferent, but he had eventually agreed to show her around the palace. Or rather, he was forced by his mother, because let’s face it, he didn’t have much of a choice since all his brothers were away and he was in the palace all day, reading and embroidering. But Nihal had to give him props for how well he managed to hide his ire at the situation.

As they slowly rose from the table, Lady Nerdanel declared, “We would be glad if you could join us for breakfast tomorrow as well, Eӓrien. Afterwards, Carnistir can show you around the palace and the gardens.”

“R-right.” Nihal managed to say. The idea that she would have to pretend again first thing in the morning caused a wave of weariness wash over her. She sincerely hoped that she won’t be here to deal with it tomorrow. “It will be here as well, I assume?”

The mistress of the house nodded curtly in confirmation. Nihal turned to Carnistir with an upbeat smile on her face, “Well, I will see you tomorrow, then, Prince Morifinwë.”

“Hmm,” the young prince pursed his lips and nodded. “See you.” And with that, he left the dining hall.

Well, he’s a charmer for sure, Nihal thought sarcastically. Though, she could not help but find his reluctance and ennui endearing. Her own sister valued her alone time as well, and was not so good at making new friends. So this was familiar ground for her. Besides, as stoic as Carnistir was, his attitude was not hostile. Just… indifferent, which was something Nihal could work with.

“Will you be able to find your way back to your room?” asked Lady Nerdanel softly, a slightly worried look on her face.

“Um…” Nihal bit the inside of her cheek and directed her gaze upwards, trying to remember the corridors they had taken to get here. But she knew it was a lost cause. She had never been good with directions, even back in her own world. Besides, she thought, you would need Google Maps just for the palace, nevermind Tirion.

Lady Nerdanel said quickly, “I can escort you. And next time, you can come here on your own.” Nihal nodded gratefully, and so they were off. They walked past the paintings hanging on the walls in a comfortable silence.

“Well then,” said Lady Nerdanel, coming to a halt in front of Nihal’s chambers. “I will see you tomorrow. Sleep tight, and if something happens, you can find me in the workshop, three stories up.

“Wait, you won’t sleep?” Nihal asked, her eyebrows knitting together for a small frown.

Lady Nerdanel chuckled, “No, dear. Not yet. I still need to work on my project.”

Nihal opened her mouth to argue, to insist that she needed sleep as well. But then she remembered that elves did not need as much sleep as humans. They even slept with their eyes open. I shouldn’t be surprised that they can easily pull all-nighters, she scoffed internally. Being “perfect" and all. So Nihal clopped her mouth close, and nodded in understanding. She wasn’t an elf (even though she seemed to be inhabiting the body of one), but being a student and all, she thought she could relate with the necessity to stay up late and forego sleep in favor of finishing up assignments.

“You, on the other hand,” Lady Nerdanel continued, pulling Nihal out of her thoughts. “need sleep. You’ve had a very challenging day. You need your rest. Let’s see… It’s almost the Eleventh Hour, by the looks of it,” Nihal raised a brow at Nerdanel being able to tell the precise time by only looking at the Light of the Trees outside. “So how about I see you at the Third Hour? You will have plenty of time to rest, surely.”

“The uh… the Third Hour?” Nihal suddenly became nervous. How was she supposed to tell the time in a world where the Sun and the Moon didn’t even exist yet? And even in her world, Nihal had needed to set an alarm on her phone if she wanted to wake up at a specific hour. So even if she could tell the time, there was a possibility that she could not wake up on time. “How… how am I supposed to tell the time?” she asked, smiling sheepishly. Her hand came up to the back of her neck to scratch it awkwardly.

Lady Nerdanel pursed her lips in worry, looking at Nihal up and down. Suddenly conscious, Nihal put her hand down abruptly. She anxiously waited for the older nís’ reply.

“It seems like some vital information has also been erased, along with your memories,” she said slowly, her voice soft and gentle. “The Third Hour is when Telperion, the silver tree, reaches its greatest bloom.”

“Oh,” Nihal breathed. The silver tree at full bloom. Easy enough, right?

But she still looked unsure, which did not go unnoticed by her lady. Lady Nerdanel sighed, “May I come in?”

Taken aback by the question, Nihal could only nod. Not wasting any time, the matriarch strode in, and went straight to the table by the window, pulling out a piece of paper and a quill. She was dipping the tip of the quill into ink as Nihal walked in behind her. The young elf peered over her lady’s shoulder to see her drawing a simple time chart, all the while explaining to her about how time works in Valinor. “There are twelve hours a day,” she said, parting the page into twelve lines. She began writing in what Nihal assumed to be Quenya. “At Hour Three, Telperion reaches his greatest bloom. At Hour Six, Laurelin begins to bloom – this is when the lights of the two trees mingle. Telperion’s light diminished after this hour. At Hour Nine, Laurelin reaches her greatest bloom. We usually eat dinner between the Ninth and Tenth, so that we still have some time to work afterwards. And finally, at the Twelfth Hour,” she said, scribbling at the bottom of the page where the last divided part was, “Telperion begins to bloom again, and the lights of the trees intertwine once more. This is when the day ends. By the end of the hour, Laurelin ceases.”

She looked up at Nihal to see if she understood. The young nís had been listening intently, nodding along occasionally. She had stopped trying to follow her on paper – for the words Lady Nerdanel wrote swam and blurred every time she focused on them – instead, she concentrated on what the nís was saying. Hours Three, Six, and Nine. Got it.

“Right,” Nihal gave a curt nod to show that she understood. Well, mostly. She would still appreciate clocks to help her tell the time, but she guessed batteries were not a thing yet. Oh well. “Thank you, my Lady. I appreciate your explanation.” She still had to find a way to wake herself up and not be late for breakfast, though, which ignited another wave of stress within her. It reminded her of going back to school after a long period of holiday. She would never be able to sleep the night before the first day of the semester. She doubted things would be different this time. But this was something she had to deal with on her own.

Lady Nerdnel seemed to be somewhat satisfied with that reaction, so she stood straight again and nodded, smiling down at her. “I will see you in the morning at the Third Hour, then. You remember where the Dining Hall is, I presume? Good. I will leave you to rest now,” she said, and made her way to the door. Nihal saw her off, and in a few seconds, she was alone in her chambers again.

For a long moment, Nihal just stood there, in the middle of the room, gazing at nothing in particular. An odd, pressuring feeling settled on her chest. It wasn’t fear or sadness, she surmised. She knew those feelings. It was more like… a void growing inside of her. She felt empty. And as her gaze fell down in front of her, at the floor where she could see her feet on the smooth, stone bricks of the palace, she experienced something she could only call something akin to dissociation. She didn’t feel like any of this was real. Like she wasn’t actually there – couldn’t actually be there.

She had occasionally experienced the same thing back at home, but a quick shake of the head and getting her feet moving again had always made that feeling go away in an instant. Now, though, it was stronger than ever, threatening to swallow her whole. Her sense of self was beginning to slip, and soon her mind would be lost. She had to move. She had to distract herself with life. It didn’t matter to whom that life belonged at that moment. She had to think, she had to do something. Anything.

She took a tentative step forward. She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and looked around, exhaling shakily.

“Sleep will do me good,” she murmured to herself. Then, she slowly nodded as if in a conversation, “Yes, sleeping will do me some good.”

She made her way to the bathroom. For a moment, she just looked around silently, not knowing what to do next. Then, she decided to look at the shelf beside the mirror to see if it contained anything she could use to cleanse her mouth with. She had recognized the soap in the corner of the sink, but she could hardly use that to brush her teeth.

“Let’s see…” she murmured as her eyes skimmed through the contents of the shelf. There wasn’t much, only a lotion and a bottle of something she couldn’t discern. The dark tone of the glass bottle prevented her from seeing its contents clearly. But there was a label on it. What she got from a mere glance at the writing told her that it was an herbal mouthwash. She frowned upon the realization that she could actually read it, but when she squinted her eyes to take a closer look at it, the words turned into nothing but undecipherable, elegant-looking runes.

“How in the hell…” she mumbled, turning the bottle this way and that to look at the writing in Quenya from different angles. The letters swam, and although they looked oddly familiar, she could not read them anymore.

She sighed in defeat, shaking her head in a “Nope!” gesture as she unplugged the bottle and sniffed its contents primly. She could instantly recognize the heavy smell of mint. She tilted the bottle closer to her eyeball to see a green-blue liquid. Shrugging, she took a gulp and rinsed her mouth thoroughly. The taste of it reminded her heavily of the Listerine back in her world, albeit a little milder. She almost spat out the liquid upon the thought of “Listerine in Middle-Earth”, presented as a television ad, doing her best to keep herself from snorting and laughing.

Once she was done, she made a beeline for the discarded nightrobe she had hastily thrown onto her bed when Nerdanel had come to fetch her for dinner, and changed into it again. When she finally slipped into the covers of her bed, though, her tired mind snapped awake at the prospect of sleeping in a completely strange environment. This feeling of uneasiness reminded her of how some people in her world – including her – found it hard to sleep when they were alone in their house, especially when they had just moved in. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in her surroundings and listening to the sounds of trees rustling with the wind, the chirping and hooting of the birds, and occasional soft voices of the servants.

Nihal was grateful that it wasn’t completely dark outside. Although the golden light of Laurelin had begun to dim a while ago, it still seeped through the half-open curtains. She wouldn’t have been able to bear having to sleep in the dark, even with the soft and yet powerful glow of the Fëanorian lamp on her bedside table. It all felt so… alien, too uncanny for her to just let her guard down and sleep, even with the consideration of all of this being a fever dream. She knew that if this really was Valinor, then there was nothing out here that could hurt her. Well… she grimaced, remembering the possibility of Morgoth being on the loose. But then again, even he wouldn’t waste his time with an ordinary elf-woman.

She pulled the covers all the way up to her nose. The unfamiliar environment aside, she also didn’t know how she was supposed to wake up and go to the Dining Hall at the right hour. It wasn’t like there were alarm clocks here! Was she to trust her biological clock, then? Which was another matter, since this body was not even hers…

Sighing in exasperation, she turned to her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. It was going to be a big day tomorrow for Eӓrien. Whoever the hell she is, she added in thought. She constantly tried to tell herself that things will get clearer in the morning, that maybe she would be out of this world and she would wake up in her own body. With that hope, her tout body relaxed a little, and with a little exhale, she let the sounds of perpetual daytime slowly lull her to sleep.

Chapter Text

It took a long, long time for her to fall asleep. The unfamiliar environment aside, she was jumpy because she feared she would miss breakfast. Her eyes opened occasionally to check the Light of the Trees coming through the glass of her window. She had deliberately left the curtains open.

As the fear of being late slowly creeped up on her sleep, she sighed and moved in her bed to lie on her back, opening her eyes and staring at the elegantly carved ceiling. She was still here. And while lying down had helped her somewhat with gathering physical energy, she was still tired mentally. Whatever sleep she had had was certainly not enough. But even the frustration from lack of sleep could not drown the feeling of disappointment upon realizing that she was, in fact, still in Tirion, Valinor.

She slowly sat up, and let her eyes wander around the eerily silent room that was illuminated by a bright, silver light. She could hear birds chirping, and the benches from the palace gardens in the palace creaking and bending to the whims of the soft, sweet wind. With a sigh, she got up from the bed, getting out of the false warmth and comforting texture of the cover. It all felt wrong, as though none of this was real; the bed, the light, the singing birds, the spacious room that was her chambers… Or rather, perhaps it was her that was out of place. The one thing that wasn’t real. Nihal shuddered at the thought and felt the existential dread creeping up on her. She jumped out of the bed abruptly, her bare feet making contact with the cool, smooth stones of the floor. As if trying to escape her own thoughts, she ran to the bathroom and splashed some water on her face, a temporary prevention from despair penetrating her mind.

Then, there came other things that occupied her confused mind that morning. Turns out, the metabolism and digestive system of elves were not so different than that of humans. It worked at a much, much slower pace, though, allowing elves to last longer without food or water. This was the first time since she had come into this world that she needed to visit the bathroom. Though, she knew that she needed a lot more time and observation to confirm this theory. Her little expedition to the toilet also showed her that contrary to her previous assumptions, the elven poop and pee do not smell like flowers, and they did not look any different either.

After finishing her business in the bathroom, she stepped out and changed into a plain, working outfit that she had seen in her wardrobe yesterday. She had decided to discard the clothes from the other day, and start this fake day of hers afresh. Before she put on her clothes, though, she used the mirror attached to the winged doors of her wardrobe to take a look at her temporary body. If she was stuck here for now, she’d better get to know this Eӓrien. And who knows, maybe she was doing the same in Nihal’s world, if they had swapped bodies.

The body of an elf was akin to that of a very fit, lithe human, Nihal decided. There was not an ounce of fat in her body that was too much or unnecessary. She was taller than her human body’s height as well, and all her limbs were annoyingly proportionate to her body. When it came to body hair, she was not surprised that she could find only peach hair at certain… places at most. These perfect bastards, I swear to God… she thought rather vindictively. Well, at least it’s a little comforting to know that I will not have to worry about how to get rid of hair while I’m here.

The thoughts about her borrowed body circled her mind as she put on her clothes. These new discoveries conveniently – and rather ironically – distracted her mind off of the existential dread that had threatened to swallow her up. While she checked herself in the mirror and tried to clumsily tie her hair with a red ribbon – she had decided to braid it to one side, which was the only way she knew – she thought about the upcoming day that was bound to be extremely hectic. She was to have breakfast with Lady Nerdanel and her son Carnistir, and afterwards said son was going to show her around the palace and its surroundings. And lastly, she was to make her way to the workshops and help Lady Nerdanel as her newly appointed apprentice until dinnertime.

She felt tired already.

She walked over to the window and pulled the curtains fully back to make sure that it was nigh time to go to the Dining Hall. The gardens were illuminated by a bright, silver light. This must be equivalent to early in the morning within my world, right? She thought, leaning on the windowsill and breathing in the fresh air. It was like dawn breaking. Except, the glow that the Silver Tree was emanating was more akin to a diamond reflecting light instead of that of the glow of the moon or the twilight color of dawn. She looked up and saw the strong sparkle of the stars blinking down at her. With Telperion reaching his full bloom, the stars were nigh unseeable save for them seeming like white polka dots in the sky here and there. Maybe, the further you go from the Two Trees, the more you can see the stars, she thought. She wondered how long it would take for her to miss the concept of “night” in this perpetual light.

She sighed and stepped away from the window, closing it shut before she made her way to the door. Finding the Dining Hall was relatively easy this time around, being guided half by memory and half by intuition. As she rounded the corner, she heard people speaking in low voices amongst the clanking of cutlery and feather-light, hurried footsteps.

When Nihal finally arrived and opened the doors to the Hall, she found Lady Nerdanel and her son already sitting at the table. “I apologize,” Nihal muttered sheepishly, “I hope I’m not too late.”

Lady Nerdanel turned halfway on her seat and greeted her with a broad smile on her face. Nihal could detect relief in her voice as well when she spoke, “Ah, Eӓrien. Welcome. No, you aren’t late at all. My son and I have just arrived as well.” She gestured Nihal to come and sit with them. The young nís nodded mutely and sat down on the chair that she had sat the day before. She looked across and greeted Prince Morifinwë with a respectful nod, which he returned in all seriousness.

Almost immediately, the servants came in with their breakfast on multiple plates. Scrambled eggs, bacon, bread, honey, milk-cream (Nihal was particularly delighted for that, and the duo that it made with honey), cheese, olives, jam, tea, and various fruits. As all of these were being laid down onto the table, she noticed the servants stealing glances at her, but it was nigh impossible for her to discern what was on their mind. All she could do was to wait awkwardly as they came and went around the table swiftly with elegance and grace. She supposed that her in-between status and freshly diagnosed condition was making them unsure of how to treat her. Nihal couldn’t blame them. She didn’t know how to treat herself either.

As the servants cleared the Hall and left them to dine together in privacy, Nihal thought of the contents of the table. She hadn’t known what to expect for breakfast, if she had to be honest. She had half-assumed that it would be a traditional English breakfast or something, given that was the country where the books had originated. While she was sure that the contents of it were fulfilling and delicious, they were far too heavy for breakfast, in her opinion. She was much more used to a breakfast like this, and she was a bit surprised to find it here as well. But then again, she thought, elves have their own culture and food. They may be a part of a mythology that originated in Britain, but they technically aren’t British. They are their own people. Nihal couldn’t help but feel a sort of pressure now. Although some things are bound to be familiar, she was now in the middle of a completely different people than her own. And not just in terms of nationality or anything, but they were a different species. She was sure that there would be many moments in the future in which she would feel like a complete alien, and adapting to their ways might prove to be a lot harder than she had initially thought. They had fundamental differences in their lifestyles. She remembered her conversation with Lady Nerdanel about time and the Two Trees from yesterday. Even the way they perceived the concept of time was different. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, she thought grimly. But just how hard is that going to be? It is certainly easier said than done.

“Something the matter, dear?” Lady Nerdanel’s clear voice broke her out of her reverie, and she turned to the older nís abruptly with a small smile on her face.

“I’m quite alright. Just… lost in thought. A little excited for the day, I guess,” she said. And she really was. This was her first time venturing out into this world. Might as well make the most of it before she somehow found her way back to hers.

Lady Nerdanel didn’t look entirely convinced, but ultimately let the matter drop. For now. “Well,” she said as she gathered food onto her plate. “I hope you’ve had plenty of rest. It’s going to be a busy day today at the workshop, and I will require your full assistance once you’re done with the palace tour. My son will drop you off at the healer’s ward for your daily check-up with Winyavílë. I will pick you up from there.”

Nihal bit back her protest regarding her future visit to the healer. She didn’t want to push her luck, so it was better to do what she was told in this case. The young human in elven body nodded, and took her plate and filled it with food, mirroring Carnistir and his mother. She stayed away from bacon, as she didn’t know what kind of meat it was. But she did get hard-boiled eggs, bread, and other stuff to keep her full throughout the day. To her astonishment, she wasn’t even all that hungry. It wasn’t surprising to her that elves didn’t get hungry or thirsty as often as humans. Still, it was strange, and she wondered what else she might discover about the elven society and elven bodies during her stay here, and whether she could manage to look less confused about everything so that she could fit in.

Once the breakfast was over, Nihal and Prince Morifinwë took leave together, walking the palace corridors side by side. He was polite in a formal way, Nihal decided. This was an obligation to him, one that he hadn’t wanted to do in the first place. Still, his discontent did not appear on his face all too much.

They started with the ground floor. “These are where most of the workshops are,” he explained as they walked. They were on the right side of the palace, where most of the artworks were created. The vast corridors were littered with past works of Lady Nerdanel and her sons as decorations. The sculptures were so life-like that Renaissance and classical sculptors had nothing on them. She distinctly remembered reading about the House’s mistress’ statues being so life-like that one could easily mistake them for real people, and Nihal could now see why. Some of them were even colored and shaded, making the statues look like life-size figurines. Some of them she assumed were the seven sons, but she couldn’t be sure. There were various beasts as well, majestic and regal. Deers, stags, hounds, foxes, and even squirrels and rabbits. They looked so alive, too. She was half convinced that in the blink of an eye, the creatures and the elves would start moving.

There were a great number of tapestries hanging from the walls as well, with some of the most elegant designs Nihal had ever seen. As someone from the twenty-first century, she had seen her fair share of beautiful art, both on the Internet and in real life. The intricateness found in these tapestries reminded her of Iranian rugs and tapestries of her world, although their styles were completely different. “These are amazing!” Nihal breathed in amazement. She reckoned each of the tapestries told a different story, for none looked like the other, and she was aware how weaving was a very essential tool of storytelling. Some were horizontal, and some were vertical. The figures in them all looked mobile. It was as if they were frozen in mid-action, but none appeared to be just resting, or standing still.

“You think so?” Prince Morifinwë beside her asked, coming up next to her. Nihal nodded vigorously. A pleased, small smile appeared on the fourth prince’s face, his pink face flushing a little more. He cleared his throat, and turned his gaze up at the tapestries, “I weaved them,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but Nihal could sense pride creeping into his voice. His posture had become straighter as well when he drew his shoulders back and slightly puffed out his chest.

She gave him a wide smile, “Well, you did a good job, Prince Morifinwë. They look incredible.”

He sighed in exasperation, “I still have a long way to go. I’m nowhere near as good as my grandmother.” The reverence in his voice did not escape Nihal. She looked at him from the corner of her eye. He was looking up at his work with desperate impatience, even biting his lips as he undoubtedly found mistakes in his work that Nihal’s untrained eye was unable to notice. She might not know much about the craft of weaving or knitting, but Nihal sure as hell knew that look. The comparison of oneself to an ideal, never feeling good enough. Still, it was too early to judge. She was new here, and she didn’t know these people. And even if she did, she might be completely wrong with her assumptions. But as much as she didn’t want to jump to conclusions, she couldn’t help but find the whole attitude painfully familiar.

Still, no self-deprecation on Nihal’s watch, even though she barely knew the elf. “Looks extremely elegant and intricate to me.”

He huffed, “I assume you don’t know much about weaving, then.”

Nihal’s eye twitched. And here she was, trying to make him feel better and getting insulted in return. “Well, no. But I’m not blind either,” she retorted back, making him sharply turn to look at her in mild astonishment.

“Besides, you enjoy weaving, don’t you?” Nihal asked, ignoring him. “It is not bad to set a goal for yourself, or a level you want to achieve,” she continued, “but it is also important to never forget why you started to do this in the first place.” She looked to her side at him without turning, “Or are you doing this just because you have the talent? Because that alone would be a lame reason.”

A beat of silence. And slowly, Nihal realized what she had just said, and how casually she had said it to a prince of the Noldor. And it was quite possible that she might have unknowingly insulted him. Well, she thought petulantly, he started it. I may be new, but assuming that I am uncultured is just plain mean.

Prince Morifinwë, however, didn’t look particularly angry. His gaze was evaluative, and after he got over the initial shock, he scoffed, crossing his arms, “Of course not.” Looking sideways at her, he raised a brow and asked, “And what about you? Do you run your mouth because you have the talent, or do you genuinely enjoy it?”

Nihal blinked in astonishment, mouth slightly agape. She was expecting a cold remark or a passive-aggressive dismissal, but this? She could be a petty person, she knew that. Nevertheless, she had always thought elves to be above such wars of words. Royal elves especially.

She could not help but grin at the familiar fire of banter welling up her chest. She was too positively surprised to be offended, so she dared to shoot back with sarcasm, “Why thank you, Prince Morifinwë. I do have a way with words, don’t I?” Why not test the waters a bit? She thought. I’m supposed to have amnesia anyway.

 As they continued their little tour around the workshops, Carnistir turned his gaze forwards, clasping his hands behind his back comfortably. As she followed him and came to his side, Nihal noticed his relaxed posture (for a prince), and counted her attitude as passable. He replied dryly, “I see it’s just a talent for you.”

Nihal hummed in a mock-serious manner, then fired back, “For you too, clearly, if you’re too tortured by your craft to take a compliment. Besides,” she added flippantly, “I do enjoy my work.”

She heard him mumble not-so-quietly, “Strange thing to boast about.”

“Oh, I disagree,” she said casual but not disrespectful manner as they walked along the sculpting and painting workshops. Her eyes lingered by every door they passed by, eager to look at the works in progress. “I think a talent like this should be cultivated.” After a moment of silent contemplation, she looked sideways at him with a small smirk on her face, “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

He scoffed again, but this time Nihal could see the hint of a mirroring smirk fighting its way to appear on his face. If anything, she could feel the tension between them easing. The prince would hopefully ease up bit by bit. “You might be the only person to consider banter a talent,” he said lightly as they arrived at the back of the palace and turned to the other side.

Nihal huffed good-naturedly, “So what? I would say that banter is a sign of intelligence just as much as being good at debates is.”

“That is an opinion I’m looking forward to share with my brother Nelyo,” Carnistir said casually. Nihal resisted the urge to swallow thickly at the mention of the eldest son of Fëanor. She had barely been able to get used to the current situation: that she was speaking with another son of his.

“Why him, specifically?” she couldn’t help but be curious despite the trepidation.

“He works at the court, and therefore partakes into a great many debates,” he explained as they walked by jewelry workshops. When he noticed her being particularly interested in them, he slowed down his pace, and commented, “Didn’t expect you to be particularly interested in the makings of jewelry.”

Nihal hummed in contemplation. It wasn’t that she was interested in their makings, per se, but her mind had automatically gone to the Silmarils. She wondered if they were made yet. The date that Lady Nerdanel had provided hadn’t told her much in terms of the timeline (she might have read the damn book, but she didn’t remember every single detail). Seeing Caranthir with Lady Nerdanel in Tirion, however, allowed her to surmise that this was a time before the family’s exile to Formenos. What she didn’t know now was how much time would pass between the creation of the Silmarils and Fëanor’s exile. And it wasn’t like these were simple questions that she could just ask.

But Carnistir was waiting for an answer. “The Noldor are famous for their arts and crafts of jewelry, are they not?” she asked nonchalantly. “I was just wondering if this is where the magic happened, you know.”

As they continued to walk alongside each other in a much slower pace, Carnistir said, “Most of it, yes. This is where my father and my brother work sometimes. Other times they are at the forges in the adjacent building.”

“You have forges here?” Nihal asked in mild surprise. Carnistir raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her expression.

“Yes. Some of them are on this floor as well, but the building next to the gardens is where personal forges are located, mostly.” Just as he explained, they passed by one of them, and Nihal saw a relatively bulky elf with a leather apron and leather gloves explain something to other elves while holding a diamond.

“I’m assuming you also educate others,” Nihal said as they walked past.

Carnistir hummed in confirmation, then slightly turned to her, “Maybe you should join them as well, seeing that you’re interested,”

Nihal snorted, “Me? Oh, no. I would be a walking hazard in there.”

“I’m assuming that is another talent of yours?” he asked, this time his smirk was unmistakable.

Nihal grinned, “That’s right. One that people rarely want to see, I’m afraid. Sometimes, that includes me too.” This earned her a chuckle. “Besides, it is too physically demanding for my taste.”

“Lazy as well as snarky, I see,” the prince said lightly. His tone was soft and a little cautious. Nihal realized that he was testing the waters just as she had moments ago.

She chirped, “You’re one to talk, my prince. I distinctly recall you deciding not to go to the hunting trip with your brothers and father.”

“That is different,” he said matter-of-factly. “I stayed at home to take a break from them, not from hunting.”

“Come now, Prince Morifinwë. There’s no shame in admitting that you are a homebody.”

“A homebody?” he asked, a slight frown appearing on his face.

“Someone who likes to stay at home most of the time,” Nihal supplied.

“I see,” he murmured. He directed her to the stairs to go up. “You Teleri from Tol Eressëa have the strangest words and phrases.”

Nihal could not help but dart her gaze up to him for a moment nervously. But he was staring ahead, unsuspecting. If he started to ask questions about her so-called homeland, she would not be able to answer any of them. Would the amnesia story be enough, then? So she took the moment to calm herself and hum in contemplation. Then said, “You’re trying to change the subject, my prince. I’m afraid that is a skill you have yet to learn, it seems.”

“Politics have never been my strongest suit,” he shrugged. They began their tour of the second floor. “But what can I say? I suppose you are right. I do like to spend my time at home.” The last part of the ground floor was the kitchens, which was buzzing enough  to make Nihal’s head spin. Elves in aprons and bandanas ran around purposefully, carrying all sorts of ingredients. Several doors opened to underground cellars, where food and drinks were no doubt stored.

As they began walking along the second floor, Nihal heard all kinds of sounds from various instruments. Soon enough, Carnistir confirmed her suspicions, “This is where the musical workshops are located.”

As her eyes lingered on the lutes, flutes and harps of various sizes, a sense of longing stabbed Nihal’s heart. She had played the piano back in her world. Not professionally, but still. Finding said instrument here would be absurd, she knew. But she felt like she needed to find snippets of familiarities in this strange world to hold onto. Just enough to keep her sane until she got back.

She didn’t notice Carnistir growing silent beside her, eyeing her with curiosity. She supposed her melancholy must have shown on her face, so she turned away from the workshop abruptly and looked at him with a smile on her face. “Is this floor entirely for music?”

The ellon beside her blinked in mild surprise at her sudden change in attitude. For a moment, Nihal feared that he might ask her about it. To her relief, he decided against it, and instead he opted to huff and say, “Well, most of it, yes. Some of the sculpting workshops are here as well. Like my brother Nelyo’s. He and Kano are usually on this floor.”

“Kano?”

“Prince Kanafinwë.”

“Oh, right.” Nihal frowned slightly as she translated the name to Maglor in her head. She supposed that made sense, given that he was the minstrel of the Noldor.

Then, they moved onto the next floor, which Carnistir told her was the servant’s quarters. This was where her room was as well, albeit a little apart from the rest of the servants. Nihal still didn’t know what exactly her status was in this household. She just hoped that she didn’t find out the hard way.

The fourth floor was where the palace library was located, and Nihal had to remind herself to breathe when she saw the sheer size of it. Rows of books and parchments went all the way up to the ceiling, divided by balconies on the second and third floors. The library had floors of its own! The stairs were made of carved wood (Nihal guessed mahogany), and went in circles up to the next floor elegantly. A chandelier illuminated the library, aided by lots of lamps of smaller size so that there were no dark corners left. All Fëanorian lamps, of course. But these were not as strong as the one she had seen in her room. When she asked Carnistir about it, he told her that the lamps could change the intensity of their light depending on the light from the outside. Nihal scoffed in incredulity at that. Of course they could. Of frickin’ course. She could sense a tone of pride in his voice as he explained to her how the lamps worked, a smug expression hanging just beneath the surface of his polite exterior. And although Nihal could sense that it did not hold any malice (for he was speaking in pride of his family’s accomplishments and not in hubris, that much was evident), she couldn’t help but laugh at the situation on the inside. He must’ve thought her awed because of how technologically advanced the Noldor had become compared to the Vanyar and the Teleri – hence his pride – but in reality, as someone from the 21^st century, Nihal was just astonished to find such technology in this hugely medieval themed setting. She wasn’t really astonished at the existence of such lamps, per se, but at the fact that they existed at this time. In short, quite the opposite of what Carnistir was probably thinking. Of course, her internal entertainment didn’t stop her from asking questions and observing the crystalline lamps more closely.

Sensing the danger of spending the rest of the day in the library by the look in her eyes, Carnistir hurriedly shifted her attention to the next floor, reminding her that there was a tour they needed to finish. Trying her best to hide her disappointment, Nihal followed him out of the library.

The fourth floor was, apparently, where Curufin, Carnistir, and the Ambarussa lived. Their chambers were here, and while they didn’t go into any of them, Carnistir showed her the doors and walked her through the corridor.

The fifth floor was where the rest of the brothers, Maedhros, Maglor and Celegorm lived. As the eldest sons, they had the entire floor to themselves. This was where their offices and studies were as well. Like the last floor, they walked past the doors with the names of the princes written on plaques. The higher they went, the more of Tirion they could see from the windows.

Then, they arrived at the sixth floor, where Lady Nerdanel and her spouse Fëanáro had their chambers. They had their own individual studies and mini-libraries, and some chambers they shared. This was where they found the mistress of the household as well, who came out to greet them and showed Nihal her study, saying that she could come in whenever she needed anything from her. As they made their way up to the last floor, the lady bade them goodbye after reminding Nihal that they were to meet at the infirmary after the tour.

The last floor was the seventh (because of course there were seven floors), which was filled with gadgets some of which Nihal recognized to be telescopes, another of those inventions that Nihal delighted in finding in this world and era. This was the watchtower, Carnistir told her. The twins and Fëanáro spent a great deal of time here, apparently. Despite the perpetual daylight, the tower was high enough for them to see the stars and constellations. Though, Nihal supposed that Treelight was not as strong and burning as the light of the Sun. It was bright all the time, but it never hurt her eyes. She asked Caranthir for permission to look through one of the telescopes, which he granted. Her breath caught at the beauty of it all. Creations of Varda Elentári. Her eyes unconsciously looked for the Moon, but she knew she wasn’t going to find it here. Not yet, anyway.

Eventually, they made their way downstairs into the palace garden. Near the entrance were the forges. They didn’t go far in, since the air inside was hot and stuffy from the furnaces. Plus, they didn’t have the proper gear.  So, they made their way to the luscious, well-groomed garden.

Well, it would be more accurate to call this a park rather than a garden. This place’s huge! Nihal thought as they made their way along the garden pathway, which took them through a little forest and tiny meadows of flowers. The hedges were well-trimmed, but they were not cut in crazy shapes of animals or people like those in the posh gardens of Nihal’s world. In fact, neither the hedges nor the flowerbeds looked to be artificially planted. They just looked naturally aesthetic with minimal touches. The colors swam together on a green background in the most harmonious way. Her eyes were able to detect the slightest movement within the trees and flowers, as well as the animals that lived amongst them. She could see every single detail in every flower petal within her near surroundings, wherever she focused her attention. But more importantly, speaking of attention…

Nihal was suddenly overwhelmed by her senses. It wasn’t just the visual magnanimity of the garden. It was… well. It was everything, really. Her new, inhuman ears were able to detect all sorts of sounds. The slightest rustle of the leaves in the wind, the individual chirping of the many birds in the garden, a squirrel munching on something – probably a walnut. The trees were creaking and speaking, much to her horror. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Their whispers were just out of reach. And the wind. The wind itself had a voice. It not only carried the songs of the birds and the leaves, but it itself sang like a distant flute. Everything, everything had a voice. She was so overwhelmed that she couldn’t focus on any of the singular voices around her. Not even Caranthir’s. She knew he was talking to her, but for the love of God she couldn’t pay attention. She blinked in surprise, and shook her head trying to dispel her confusion. Is this what the world feels like to an elf? She asked herself, mildly terrified but also fascinated.

And it wasn’t just her hearing and seeing that was amplified. Her sense of smell had gotten stronger as well. The wind carried a banquet of floral scent with it as well as songs. Every flower and every tree had a distinct scent as well as sound. Her nose was bombarded with information. She could even smell the faint cologne that Carnistir was wearing. The elf in question, though, was walking and talking without any awareness of Nihal’s sensory struggles. Thinking that it would help her concentrate, she turned slightly towards him and looked at him as they walked along the path, further into the garden.

At some point, he looked at her sideways and asked bluntly, “What is it?” he stopped abruptly as well, and Nihal couldn’t react until she took three extra steps forward.

Taken aback by this sudden question, she could only utter, “What do you mean, what?”

“You have been staring and frowning at me for the past three minutes,” he replied, folding his arms in front of him a little too defensively. She couldn’t blame him.

“I wasn’t frowning,” Nihal said hastily, while the already-present frown on her face deepened as her confusion grew with a touch of indignation now.  

Caranthir raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “Yes, you were. You are.”

Having just now gained consciousness of her involuntary facial expressions, Nihal bit her lip nervously. “I am, aren’t I?” she asked, chuckling while trying to smooth the line between her brows. She hoped that her rhetorical question would grant her enough time to think of a reply to him, however awkward it was making her look. What could she even say to the other elf without making it sound weird? That she wasn’t expecting her senses to be amplified by tenfold, that she could now hear the earth, the wind and the tress singing? And now that she thought them again, their voices grew louder and louder. How could any elf survive living like this?!

She sighed dejectedly and lowered her head to pinch the bridge of her nose. All of these sounds were confusing her immensely. While she was sure she had these heightened senses when she was in the palace as well, the isolated environment of indoors must have kept the sensory traffic at bay. This was all… too much. Way too much.

She saw from the corner of her downward gaze that the prince had taken a tentative step towards her. He was still waiting for an answer. “I… I don’t think I’m feeling well,” Nihal finally managed to murmur. She shook her head again slightly as she tried to block out the sounds. Getting ahead of her sight was easy enough, for all she had to do was close her eyes. But her sense of smell and hearing were not that easy to block, especially if she didn’t want to be rude in front of the literal royalty of this world. And for the love of God, can Nature just shut up for one second?!

“Is your head hurting?” she heard him ask, voice tight with mild worry.

Nihal could only nod. Without looking up or opening her eyes, she said, “I have a headache…” she bit her lower lip in silent frustration. She couldn’t even go out without being overloaded by her senses. How was she to even get accustomed to this new body? Let’s hope that I don’t have to for long.

 “Here, allow me…” she heard him say quietly as he gently grasped her elbow. “I can guide you back inside the palace,” he supplied as he slowly turned her around and they both started to walk back the way they came. His steps were slow, considerate, deliberate. Amidst the chaos, Nihal couldn’t help but think, He may be blunt and gruff, but he’s also a softie it seems. But then, she inwardly scoffed, Or, he’s just being polite as a host of his household. After all, royalties have a reputation to uphold.

Lost in thought, Nihal endeavored to not trip and fall as they slowly made their way outside of the radiant palace garden. She had resorted to narrowing her eyes to slits so as to give herself somewhat of a tunnel vision, which would allow her to concentrate on the road. Without lifting her head or gaze, she clutched at his arm and let him guide her into the palace silently. Even if he was confused as to why she was glaring at the floor while walking, he didn’t say anything.

By the time they reached the palace, Nihal had completely relinquished herself to his directions. She couldn’t even bother to look up and see where they were going, trusting Carnistir to bring her to the healer’s ward, as his mother had told him to do during breakfast. And so he had, directing her and setting the pace of their steps in full awareness of her reactions. Well, at least this will nicely feed into the concussion story, Nihal thought bitterly, gritting her teeth in frustration.

Soon enough, she found herself sitting on one of the beds at the palace’s infirmary. Now that she was inside the building and not out in the open, loud wilderness, she clearly heard Carnistir’s order for her to stay seated on the bed as he walked up to each and every window closest to her briskly to shut the curtains close. “Your eyes might still be sensitive,” he murmured. “I’ll go and get your healer. What was his name?”

“Uh… Win – something… Winya…”

“Winyavílë?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Hmm. Wait here while I go fetch him. No moving about. Stay on the bed,” he instructed, his tone authoritative and surprisingly calm, which helped with Nihal’s escalating panic and confusion tremendously.

“Well, when you say it so sweetly, how can I not?” mumbled Nihal sarcastically without giving much thought to what she was saying. She was feeling a lot better already, now that they were out of the outrageously loud and lively garden. Yet, now she had to get used to the sudden silence that she had so desperately sought. If Carnistir responded to her quip, she didn’t hear it. Her eyes closed, she focused on her breathing, and tried to get her thoughts in order. The sensory attack was not something she had expected, and she couldn’t help but feel a little bit of despair at the prospect of having difficulties even in such mundane matters. It was frustrating, to say the least.

She opened her eyes with a jolt when she felt a hand on her shoulder. And there was the healer, Winyavílë. The pale, grey eyes that confronted hers were cold but reassuring, as calm as undisturbed water. And though his gaze was detached, his touch was gentle as he lifted his hand to her face to pull her eyelids apart. He bade Carnistir to open the curtains a little so that he could see how Nihal reacted to light. The mild light of the Trees didn’t hurt her eyes at all. She waited patiently as the healer prodded around her head, parting her hair here and there to inspect the bump that was now barely there. When he drew back, she could detect a hint of confusion just beneath his stoic expression.

“I do not understand,” he mumbled. “The bump seems to be healing. And I could not sense any internal bleeding around the skull either.” He straightened and looked her over in contemplation. “Prince Morifinwë said that you were suffering from a headache. Can you tell me where exactly it hurts?”

Nihal pursed her lips. Ah, shit. How to answer to this question without sounding odd? Her made-up ailment had slipped through her lips in a moment of sensory confusion, and now she had to keep it up by playing into it? Would this elf even fall for it? He was a healer, for God’s sake. She couldn’t possibly fool him, could she?

“Uh...” she tried to stall as her mind scrambled for a suitable answer. “Right behind my eyes, I guess? They were a little sensitive to the Light. Now that I’m inside, though, I feel a lot better.” She hoped that this kind of sensitivity was normal for those who suffer from concussions.

With a small frown, Winyavílë bent down again and lifted her eyelids a bit more while his other hand double-checked her skull and nape. “Well, that is to be expected. You are fine as far as I can tell. I will give you some mild painkillers, and I recommend you stay here until Lady Nerdanel comes. In the meantime, I will be here to keep an eye on you. I will tell her to not tire you too much in the workshop today. Or even better, leave it to tomorrow.”

“It’s alright, I can work,” she said as she accepted the weird-smelling liquid that resembled a tonic with a small, grateful smile. She supposed she couldn’t just go for a medicine that could knock her out completely so that she didn’t have to think about how she did not belong here, so she opted with focusing on a physical endeavor to keep her mind away from her sensory blunder in the garden. It was frustrating to think that such a simple walk outside could incapacitate her like that. She wondered how many other things that came easily to these elves would become a hard task to accomplish by someone (or rather, something, she thought with a shudder as she gulped the painkiller down) like her, from daily chores to telepathic communication. It was even more frustrating to realize that she had no choice but to simply get used to it all. Get used to the loudness of the world. She had to set her own pace for even the most mundane tasks. Somehow.

Meanwhile, Winyavílë and Carnistir regarded her with uncertainty. She didn’t see the worried glance that they shared as she gulped down the medicine. However, she did hear Carnistir say, “You should at least stay here and rest until my mother gets here.”

That snapped her out of her anxious thoughts. “That might be a good idea,” she made a mental note to revisit the garden, but next time by herself. She risked getting lost, but it was the only way to get used to her “affliction” without drawing unnecessary attention onto herself. “Thank you for showing me around the palace, Prince Morifinwë. I really appreciate it.” She gave him a toothy smile.

The fourth son of Fëanáro nodded, his face getting a tiny bit more scarlet. “You are most welcome. You proved to be somewhat of an interesting company. If you need anything, feel free to visit me in the weaving workshops. That’s where I’ll be, at least until my brothers are back.”

Nihal raised a brow, “Why until then?”

He huffed, crossing his arms in an exasperated attitude. His annoyance wasn’t overtly obvious, but it wasn’t so subtle either. “Because then, I will be busy tidying up their messes behind their backs. They will undoubtedly bring in many supplies from their expedition. They will stop by many stores and shops on their way here as well. Someone has to take stock and count them all.”

“And that someone is you?”

Carnistir shrugged, “I like numbers. They are reliable, and they are definitive. I enjoy the patterns.”

Nihal’s wide smile turned into a more subtle, gentle one as she listened to Carnistir revealing a side of his character that she had never known prior. Granted, she hadn’t known the elf at all in the first place, but these were the kind of stuff legendary books like the Silmarillion never mention, given their tone and the epic scale they are supposed to cover.

“At any rate,” continued the prince, clearing his throat as he prepared to leave, “like I said, if you need assistance getting around in the palace, you know where to find me.”

Nihal chuckled. She had the feeling that this was his way of telling her that he wished to keep her acquaintance. For the near future, at least.

“That eager to get rid of me now, are you?” she asked with a smirk. She knew it was risky, bickering with a prince in such a manner. Some would even say that she was rude. But to hell with it, she had had a really long day, and she was tired of playing pretend. She didn’t belong here, and she was bound to wake up sometime. She could say whatever she wanted (within reason). 

She needn’t have worried, though. Upon hearing her sassy remark, the young prince had a smirk of his own that matched hers. “Well, there’s only so much of your snark that I can endure for a day. I have standards, you know.”

Nihal barked out a genuine laugh, leaning her head back as her shoulders shook with the force of it. “So be it, then,” she managed to say, “I’ll be sure to drop by and grace you with my unparalleled intellect,” she flipped her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “It takes time for people to get on my level, after all!” she said, clearly mocking herself good naturedly.

That earned her a quiet chuckle from the prince. “You’re an odd one, alright,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. He then turned to leave the healer’s ward, nodding her goodbye. Once he was gone, Nihal took off her shoes, and lay down onto the infirmary bed. She could still see Winyavílë out of the corner of her eye. And truth be told, she felt reassured by another person’s presence in the room. With everything going on, she welcomed the sounds of another life within the same room. In that moment, she preferred it to the deafening silence of her own chambers.

“Thank you as well, Winyavílë,” she mumbled, turning to her side. She didn’t know if it was the medicine he had given her or her lack of sleep, but she was feeling a little sleepy. A nap would do no harm. The elf in question was in the middle of drawing the curtains to block out the light, having noticed her current state. She heard him cordially say, “Of course,” as she closed her eyes.

“Could you wake me up when Lady Nerdanel arrives? I will only nap for a few minutes…” she yawned. Even if he gave her an answer, she didn’t hear it.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure she didn’t hit her head again?”

“Yes, my Lady, I have thoroughly examined her when she came here with Prince Morifinwë.”

Nihal could hear the hushed voices beside her bed. Her face half-buried into the pillow, she blinked her eyes open to stare up at two figures towering over her. She blinked groggily, confused for a moment as to where she was and who these people were. When she realized whose presence she was in, she sat up abruptly, her black hair flying out of her face from the sudden movement. God knew how ridiculous she looked with this unruly (and in her opinion, quite unnecessarily long) hair.

“Lady Nerdanel,” she murmured in astonishment. She looked at the healer – Winyavílë, she thought, his name is Winyavílë – half questioningly and half accusingly. He was supposed to wake her upon Lady Nerdanel’s arrival, not whisper around with the said woman at her bedside. She felt exposed, much to her disdain.

Winyavílë looked at her with a neutral face, “Lady Nerdanel has just arrived. I was going to wake you but we have noticed something we thought could be important in terms of your concussion and recovery.”

Still a little disoriented from her disturbed sleep, it took Nihal a moment to register his words. But they still didn’t make sense. What the hell did that mean?

Frowning, she turned her gaze to the older woman in hopes of getting an answer. She witnessed in astonishment as the matriarch of the household exhaled in relief upon making eye contact with her. “We thought you had another concussion or something to that effect, dear,” she said softly.

This confused Nihal even more. “Wh-what do you mean? Rest assured, I didn’t fall or anything while sightseeing today, and Prince Morifinwë was kind to bring me back to the infirmary when –”

“The main reason for our worry is not just your headache,” Lady Nerdanel said slowly. She shot a quick glance at the healer and then turned her worried gaze back to her ward, “Healer Winyavílë has noticed you having closed your eyes after you said you were going to sleep. We thought you fainted, or worse. We were discussing what should be done.”

Now Nihal was looking at the older woman as if she had just grown a second head. Her frown deepening, she asked “How is closing my eyes out of the ordinary? I was just sleeping.”

It was now Lady Nerdanel’s turn to look confused. This whole situation was getting progressively more confusing the more people talked, ironically. “What do you mean you were “just sleeping”? Your eyes were not open at all!”

Nihal didn’t huff in annoyance, but it was a near thing. “Well of course they weren’t, my Lady. How else could I even sleep if my eyes were –” she stopped herself abruptly as realization slapped her into a fully awake state.

Elves in Tolkien’s world didn’t sleep with their eyes closed.

Their sleep was more like a trance, during which their eyes usually remained –

“– open,” she finished softly, her voice suddenly losing its tone of slight irritation. Her eyes left Lady Nerdanel’s, and she absently stared at the wall to the left of the older woman as her stomach dropped. She opened her mouth to say something, anything that could offer a modicum of an explanation to ease their suspicions. Her mind drew blank, so she clopped her jaw shut without making a sound.

“Eӓrien?” Lady Nerdanel’s worry was almost palpable in her silent call. Nihal flinched upon hearing that name, hating for the first time since her arrival how alien it sounded. She could feel blood draining from her face, and by the expressions on the other two elves’ faces, they could see it too. Anxiety was slowly clawing its way up to her chest, threatening to drown her heart and mind like a tsunami. She had to think. She had to think now. If she didn’t speak in the next few seconds, she knew she was going to be a hyperventilating, panicking mess. She had just woken up, and she was forced by the suddenness of the situation to run her brain a mile without even warming up the engine, so even if this in on itself was not a big deal and could easily be covered with a simple lie, psychologically Nihal felt like she was walking a thin line between keeping her composure to start to think and  having a breakdown.

She gave out a shaky exhale which she hopefully managed to cover up as a half-hearted chuckle. Then, praying that her voice wasn’t going to break, she said “It’s a habit I’ve taken up after the concussion. I… I have trouble sleeping with my eyes open. They’re still a little sensitive to the light, so this was the solution I came up with.” The more she spoke, the easier the words flowed out of her mouth. Her confidence returning bit by bit, she added, “It wasn’t easy at first, willing my eyes to close in such a state. But I got used to it.” Nihal could feel blood creeping back onto her cheeks. She had to consciously stop herself from talking too much or too fast for the fear of overselling it.

Lady Nerdanel and Healer Winyavílë exchanged uneasy glances that did not escape Nihal’s attention. They were not thoroughly convinced, but at least now they were suspending judgement. The lie may not have granted her an immediate victory, but it had given her an opportunity.

“Besides,” she continued, now her voice calm and collected. She could still feel the bile of panic in her throat, but it had become much easier to suppress it. “I did wake up on my own after hearing your voices, didn’t I? No interventions on your part were needed. You didn’t have to do anything.” She finally felt bold enough to sit straighter and grab the matriarch’s hand to squeeze it for emphasis, looking into her eyes with genuine reassurance. “I swear, I was just sleeping.”

Lady Nerdanel looked at her charge for a long moment, searching her eyes for any sign of deception or physical trauma. In that glance Nihal recognized all those years of experience in child-rearing, and a mother’s undivided attention to detect the signs of distress her children would display, despite their attempts at concealing it. It was the very same look of mild disapproval that her own mother would give to her whenever she tried to act as if nothing was bothering her. The one that said they could clearly see through her bullshit.

But Nihal was stubborn too. And in her defense, her statement wasn’t completely a lie. She really was just sleeping. It was the details behind her way of sleeping that she wanted to conceal. It was something much deeper than Lady Nerdanel or anyone else in Valinor would’ve assumed. So, she kept the older woman’s gaze with conviction. And finally, the nail on the coffin. “You could have Healer Winyavílë do another examination if you’re not convinced, my Lady. Or any other healer for that matter.” There. A bluff that was not really a bluff.

That must’ve done the trick, because Lady Nerdanel responded to her challenge with a raised brow, indicating that she might just take her up on it. Sure enough, without averting her eyes from her, she ordered the healer to take a look at her again. Winyavílë, who obviously wasn’t convinced by Nihal’s reassurances either, was quick to oblige. He probed around her head and neck, examined her eyes, and even touched her mind with his. But this time, not without giving a verbal warning and providing time to brace herself, which Nihal appreciated. She was starting to understand why he was called “fresh wind”. His touch was light but also secure, both physically and mentally. Respectful, reassuring. He never ventured too far into her mind. The stoic elf was doubtlessly good at his job. It was just that Nihal was not… normal. It certainly wasn’t due to incompetence on his part that he didn’t understand what was up with her. That was something even Nihal herself couldn’t figure out.

Finally, he took a step back and sighed. It was the first time Nihal saw him display any kind of emotion on his face. Eyebrows furrowed, he looked mildly frustrated and confused. “I’m afraid she’s right, my Lady. She’s fine both in fëa and in body. No concussion or trauma.”

Lady Nerdanel gave out a sharp exhale, as if she had expected this outcome but was still hoping for further clarification. What followed next was a thorough interrogation of poor Winyavílë. Nihal was honestly not sure if she should be happy that the matriarch’s attention was diverted from her for now, or that the poor healer is suddenly put under the microscope with rapid-fire questions. Winyavílë shared his findings with Lady Nerdanel in a calm manner, not bothered by the intensity of the matriarch one bit. He was honest, and he was confident in his craft. He had nothing to hide, unlike Nihal.

By the end of it all, the Lady of the house still didn’t look completely convinced. Nihal didn’t expect anything less. The woman had raised seven sons, after all. Finally, she turned to the young human in her ward’s body, and sharply said, “You will still check in with Winyavílë every day for the next tenday. Any sign of distress, and I shall be informed. As for now,” she looked Nihal up and down, weighing her, “you will follow me to my workshop. I will not have you work too hard today. I will show you around and we will start with some light work, but that will be all. You will officially start tomorrow. And if you’re really alright as you say you are, you will have to prove it to me by giving it your all.” Her expression said it all. I will be watching you.

Nihal was beginning to think that feigning sick would’ve been the better option. She didn’t appreciate the older woman’s scrutiny. What was Lady Nerdanel afraid of? On the other hand, her human oddities weren’t really helping with her case either.

She knew that it was useless to argue. She just had to be more careful next time. And adjust to this body quickly. She wasn’t sure she wanted to learn how to sleep with her eyes open (she liked the dark, thank you very much), but she could choose where she fell asleep.

Sighing in defeat, she gave the older nís a single nod of compliance.

*******

Turns out, her assumptions regarding Lady Nerdanel’s style of working were correct. The matriarch of the House of Fëanáro was extremely organized. Everything had a certain place and function in her workshop. Practicality was practically oozing from every corner of the room. But the sculptures themselves… Nihal had seen some of them from the outside along with those displayed in the corridor as she had been walking around the palace with Prince Morifinwë as her guide beforehand, but now that she could look at them up-close… they took her breath away. Every single one of them looked like they were mid-movement, their poses chaotic and dynamic. They didn’t look like they were standing still. Clothes of marble were billowing, muscles of chisel contracting. The energy they exuded contrasted with the sense of stillness and order within the workshop. Chaos in order, Nihal thought, smiling to herself inwardly. She should’ve known that the woman who had married Fëanáro, the fiercest and most unpredictable inventor in the history of Arda, had a flare of chaos within herself that matched his. 

It took Nihal a great deal of effort to pull her attention away from the statues and direct it to the words of Lady Nerdanel and look at wherever she pointed. She knew that this moment was too important to stop and gawk at the artworks, for she had something to prove. She had to give it her all to memorize where everything was, and which equipment was used for what purpose. Quite frankly, her life depended on it.

She wished she could pull out a notebook and write down everything Lady Nerdanel was saying. Years of being a student and later a scholar had taught her this much, at least. But no such luck here. Aside from the fact that she possessed neither a notebook nor a quill at that moment, she also discovered something extremely disconcerting. While Lady Nerdanel was showing her the tables and drawers where they stored various sketches, Nihal noticed that she could only read the scribbles around the drawings when she spared them a cursory glance. But whenever she paid her full attention to them, the letters turned utterly undecipherable. So, her second panic that day was finding out that she couldn’t really read. For whatever reason, she could understand Quenya and speak it without even thinking about it, but she couldn’t read it.

This time, though, her panic was easier to cover up. She was fully awake and aware, after all. She wrote this away into the back of her mind as one of the problems she was going to have to solve for later. She swallowed down her frustration and tried to focus on what the matriarch was saying. The chiselhammers of various sizes were stored in this cupboard, tools for wood-carving were stored here, and materials that help model clay should be put there. Lady Nerdanel must have noticed the growing frustration on Nihal’s face as she tried to distinguish different tools that were used for different mediums of sculpting, and memorize where each of them must be placed in their designated order, because the work that she put Nihal through that day revolved mainly around simple errands like fetching tools, putting them back, labeling freshly-made sculptures, and putting pottery into the kiln. It was all to get her accustomed to the workshop and allow her to simply observe how things were done. Nihal also suspected that the older elf was still worried about her concussion. Regardless, she was glad that the matriarch was going easy on her. In turn, she did her best to follow the instructions directed her way. She would not let Lady Nerdanel’s curtesy go to waste.

They were alone most of the time, save for a few servants who came and went occasionally. Nihal was secretly glad, for having a curious audience witness her potential clumsiness and forgetfulness would’ve put extra pressure on her. She needn’t have worried about forgetfulness all that much – when your life depended on it, you could hyperfocus on your task quite easily – but her clumsiness was a problem. It wasn’t a quirk of Nihal, per se, but it was the fact that this elvish body was difficult to adjust to. If Nihal had to describe it, the way Eӓrien’s body felt whenever she moved around or interacted with objects were akin to a hypersensitive pc mouse during gameplay. Unfortunately for her, though, she couldn’t just pause and click on the game-menu to readjust the settings in this case. Her speed was off, and so was her strength. It wasn’t an astronomical difference, but it was enough to cause quite a few mishaps. Cupboard doors closing with unnecessarily loud bangs, bewilderment from crossing the room in the blink of an eye, bumping into some of the statues and sculptures in progress because she couldn’t change her direction in time of her speed and almost causing them to fall… She tried to cover these things from Lady Nerdanel as much as possible, chalking those she couldn’t up to the fact that she had never worked in a sculpting workshop before, all the while thinking that she must be the first “awkward elf” alive.

Nevertheless, the day ended without any major accident. When she was finally allowed to leave the workshop, Nihal couldn’t help but sigh in relief. The day was almost over, and she was finally free. Until dinner, that is. She was to dine on her own today, as Lady Nerdanel had told her before exiting the workshop. The matriarch had a commission to deliver soon, so she was on a tight schedule. Nihal was more than happy to oblige. She was getting rather tired of walking on thin ice all the time.

Her relief was short-lived, however, for Vórilotsë was waiting for her in front of her chambers. The dark-haired young elf turned her way when she heard Nihal’s footsteps, and ran up to her with a curious glint in her eyes. “So… how did it go? The other servants told me that you agreed to be the Lady’s apprentice.”

Nihal couldn’t help but tense up at the sudden interrogation. If she didn’t know any better, she would think that Vórilotsë was one of those people in her world who would look for any sort of secret or weakness under the pretense of being a close confidante. In fact, she was about to snap at her that it was none of her business, but she stopped herself last second upon seeing the genuine expression on the young woman’s face. No matter how tired she was and no matter how vulnerable she had felt that day, it just would not do to assume the worst of a person whom she barely knew. She let her tension melt away with a sigh and a smile she sent Vórilotsë’s way. She ultimately decided to be polite, but vague, “It was fine. Better than I thought it would be.”

The other young elf rewarded her with a smile of her own, “I’m glad. Lady Nerdanel didn’t look so convinced yesterday. She even told me to see to your needs regarding your room if you have any, like cleaning, dusting, or washing clothes and changing the bedsheets. It has been a while since it was last tended.”

Nihal’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly at Eärien’s friend’s offer to help her with her chores. While this conversation was helping her figure out her position in the household, it also caused more questions about the elven society and its classes (if it had any) to pop up. Barely restraining herself from asking those questions to the clueless nís in front of her and thus astronomically diverting the topic, she managed to say, “Uh… sure. I’ll help too. Come on in.”

Vórilotsë politely waited for Nihal to open the door and step in. When both of them were inside, Nihal made it to the window and opened it to let fresh air in. Laurelin’s golden light was getting stronger. “Evening” was drawing near.

“Say, Vórilotsë,” Nihal said absent-mindedly. “Is there a way to measure time? As in, follow it hour by hour?” Like a clock, Nihal thought, but didn’t voice. While she could surmise that there were no “weeks” or “months” at this time in Arda for the obvious lack of the Moon, Nihal was hoping that elves had figured out a way to tell the time, and that there was a way to tell it precisely. She turned to see the addressee of her question stop in mid-action as she was taking the sheets off the bed, brows furrowed in confusion. Nihal walked towards the bed to help her, her heart starting to do its usual flip whenever she worried about saying something too unusual to this alien species she was temporarily forced to live amongst. She was getting rather tired of this anxiousness. She wondered how many times she had to go through this to get used to it.

“Amnesia, remember?” Nihal tried.

“I… didn’t think you could forget things like that as well,” said Vórilotsë, now her upbeat expression turning into a rather concerned one. Wonderful. As a response, the human in Eärien’s body just shrugged.

Wanting to divert her attention a little bit, Nihal gestured towards the sheets, the bedcover and the pillows and their cases. She could practically feel Vórilotsë thinking as they worked in silence. She didn’t say anything else, allowing her to marinate on the matter. “Well,” began the chambermaid, all the while doing her job in such efficiency and dexterity that it almost made Nihal’s head spin. Her movements were fluid, as if these tasks were second-nature to her. Next to her, Nihal’s movements were rough and clumsy, even though this was something she had done many times before. “There’s the Light, of course. You can tell the time from its silver and golden hues.” They threw the sheets and covers to the floor to be collected by Vórilotsë later, before she started to clean the room. “There are different types of birds that chirp at specific times of the day,” It was her turn to shrug now, as if this was a simple matter that she had never pondered hard about before, “And I suppose there are prisms that reflect the Light and roughly show you the time.”

Nihal couldn’t help but give out a sharp exhale of frustration. She should’ve known that the answer would be “Just look at Nature!” or “Imprecise prisms will tell you!” I guess when you have all the time in the world, Nihal thought bitterly, details such as hours or minutes do not mean much. How the hell was she supposed to discern how late she was for dinner from a bird chirping, for God’s sake?! The modern human’s desire to put everything into clear and precise boxes was overwhelming, and she wanted to pull at her hair at the face of such uncertainty. Considering the hair on her head belonged to someone else, she would’ve done so already if it hadn’t been for Vórilotsë’s presence.

“But what if you are late for something? Like dinner or… an appointment?” Nihal asked, trying her best not to grit her teeth.

The other young woman was thankfully unaware of her inner frustrations. “We servants usually ring a bell when it’s time for dinner. For Lady Nerdanel and the princes, though… they eat at their own time. Sometimes they prefer to prepare their meals themselves, sometimes they eat together, and rarely, when they all have their own big projects or some of them are out of the palace, they each eat their meals at different times. They always let the servants know beforehand, though.”

“I see,” Nihal murmured. The vaguer the answer got, the less willing she became to continue listening. Humans divided and counted time like their life depended on it. And in a way, it did. Their days were numbered after all. Every minute, every moment mattered. They counted the time even when they spent it leisurely. Not to mention the current world-system that valued maximum productivity at minimum time. Humans were obsessed with “saving time”. Elves, especially those in Valinor, had the annoying luxury of just not caring about the precise numbers like humans did.

Still. None of these answers were inherently helpful to Nihal’s plight. “You mentioned a prism,” she said as they went over her wardrobe.

Vórilotsë nodded, “Yes, there is a device called the ‘Light-catcher’, some kind of a glass prism that has parts which catch and reflect specific lights and their shades, like gold and silver. It’s divided into sections, so you will roughly know which hour it is by looking at it. I don’t know how it’s made, but you can buy it at the marketplace.”

Nihal hummed in acknowledgement, filing this useful information for later to open it again with Lady Nerdanel. Maybe she could venture out of the palace in the near future and visit Tirion, the city. “I’d like to obtain one at some point,” she said at last.

  Vórilotsë shrugged, not relating to Nihal’s “enthusiasm” concerning the device. “I don’t understand why you fixate on it this much, though. You can tell the time just as well by simply looking and listening.”

Nihal answered automatically, “Nature can be fickle. I’d rather trust a device in this case.” Her body may be in tune with Nature, but her mind sure wasn’t. Not yet anyway. Something so natural to an elf felt to Nihal as if she trusted solely in her instincts and not her reason at all. Then again, even the device depended on Nature, it would seem, for it caught the Light of the Trees. Such trust, Nihal grimaced inwardly. Only a strong bond to the very soil of this world could be the cause of it. One that can only form between the native and their land. And Nihal was most certainly not a native.   

While such thoughts circled around her head, she didn’t notice Vórilotsë looking at her quizzically. But the young chambermaid didn’t say anything else on the matter, ascribing such a strange viewpoint to the recent concussion that her friend had had. As they started to mop the floor and then dust the furniture, the topic of their conversation was changed into less technical matters.

Vórilotsë was, Nihal decided, a chatty person even by human standards. It wasn’t a droll kind of chattiness, though. It was enthusiastic and rather expressive (for an elf). She had a gift for story-telling, as Nihal discovered when her companion talked about the happenings around the palace among servants and the royal families. She reminded Nihal of people who share their hyperfixations, which made the young elf even more endearing in the human’s eyes.

Despite the familiarity and the sense of warmth that emanated from it, the nís constantly reminded Nihal how alien elven-kind was in her every movement, for it was so fluent and elegant. Even a simple act of cleaning looked graceful when done by her. Next to her, Nihal moved with a stiff awkwardness that could only belong to a human, having not adjusted to this new body yet. She did notice Vórilotsë going around and discreetly fixing the work Nihal had done, which looked half-hearted next to that of an expert’s. Dusting where Nihal had previously dusted, or readjusting the sheets on the mattress so it looked smooth and straight. Nihal wanted to petulantly point out that not everything had to be perfect, but for the sake of her pride (which was already all over the place at this point), she didn’t say anything. It seemed as if perfectionism came as easy to the chambermaid as breathing. Nihal wondered if it was a matter of pride for the young nís. This was her duty, after all. She might have wanted to perform it to the best of her abilities. Still, that didn’t help with the way Nihal’s chest tightened at her own incompetence and boorish movements. 

When they were done, they both took a moment to stop to look around the room, admiring how tidy and clean it looked now. Granted, there wasn’t much to make a mess in terms of furniture or personal belongings, but still, the room looked… fresh. As if it was reset, somehow. Nihal clapped her hands together and then wiped them off her apron. She hadn’t taken her workshop outfit off. “Well, the room looks lovely now. Thank you, Lottie.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the chambermaid tilt her head in a way that reminded Nihal very much of birds. She broke the inquisitive silence by clearing her throat, casting her gaze downwards. “Ah, sorry. It just slipped.” She had gotten too comfortable.

Vórilotsë shook her head hurriedly, “No no, it’s quite alright.” A pause. “You can call me that if you want to, I suppose.”

Nihal’s head whipped back up. “Yeah?”

The chambermaid nodded with a smile after a moment of contemplation. “I don’t mind. It’s a little unique for an abbreviation, too.”

Not in English it isn’t. She tried to cover her awkwardness with an air of nonchalance “Then Lottie it is.” A part of her wanted to say that Vórilotsë could give her a nickname too if she wished, but she didn’t know if the other woman would find that too chummy. Nihal barely knew her after all.

A beat of silence. Then, the chambermaid said with an incredulous huff, “You’ve really changed. It’s like you’ve become a different person.”

Nihal hid her nervousness behind a chuckle. “That’s what memory loss does. The majority of who we are is forged by our experiences and the way we remember them, you know,” Not liking how philosophical this conversation was going, she said with a much lighthearted tone, “How much time until dinner? I’m starving.” She wasn’t, but it proved to be a useful diversion.

Vórilotsë looked out the window with a hum, “The bell will ring soon, I reckon,” she turned back to Nihal, “Would you like to eat together?”

Nihal was feeling tired socially. It was tedious to constantly worry about whether she was acting too weird or not. Not to mention the risks of others realizing who she was not. Yet, she felt like her refusal would make her look even weirder. So, sighing inwardly, she nodded her assent, “Sure, why not?”

The young chambermaid’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Great! We could get dinner from the kitchens and head to the garden.”

The human in Eärien’s body couldn’t help but wince a little at the mention of the sensory-assaulting garden. “Uh… can we eat indoors this time?” Upon seeing the quizzical look on Vórilotsë’s face, she tried to supply, “Turns out, my eyes are still a little Light-sensitive from the concussion.”

Thankfully, she only needed to reassure the chambermaid of her well-being only five times as they made their way out of Nihal’s room and head down to the kitchens, which was even more hectic than last time Nihal had seen it. They ended up sitting among the other servants, who welcomed them both with polite nods and small greetings. They were especially at ease with Vórilotsë, understandably. Nihal could see that they were unsure of how to treat her. She remembered some of them from yesterday, serving dinner to her, Lady Nerdanel, Prince Morifinwë. A sense of trepidation filled her heart. She didn’t know how to behave in a system she didn’t understand yet, let alone deciding to break its conventions. It was easy with Lady Nerdanel to some degree, for she was an obvious authority figure. And although there was history between her and Vórilotsë outside of her knowledge, she doubted she could just be at ease with the other servants.

So, she observed and listened, praying that she wouldn’t be prompted to speak too much. She answered a few questions sent her way, and asked some of her own, which were more in the lines of “What are your responsibilities at the palace?” “Is there a strict schedule?” “Are there holidays?”, aside from introductions. Simple questions that made the servants ease up on their formal behavior a little bit, much to Nihal’s relief. She supposed the alcohol helped as well. Short, concise answers turned into elaborate explanations. Yet, getting them to warm up to her was like pulling teeth at first. Maybe it’s not a class thing as much as me being practically a stranger to them. The more she talked to them, the more convinced she became that that was the case. At least, for someone of her position in the household – whatever that was.

Dinner was mostly uneventful. She managed not to embarrass herself with her low social stamina. She had gathered enough attention for today. So, she tried not to look too relieved as she said goodbyes to the rest of the people in the servant’s dining hall. With Vórilotsë’s promise to wake her up for breakfast, she made her way to her chambers.

******

It wasn’t until three days after the beginning of her apprenticeship that Nihal could bring herself to visit the garden again. She had been so adamant on learning to get around in the workshop that she barely had the energy to do anything outside of it. Not to mention her mental fatigue afterwards. Vórilotsë’s occasional visits were a highlight as much as they were tiring. The young elf was full of energy, and unlike the majority of the staff, she didn’t shy away from expressing her emotions all that much. If Nihal had to be honest, her simplicity was like a balm to the human’s soul. However, the chambermaid never seemed to run out of energy. She would drag Nihal around with her as she worked, chattering all the while about life at the palace and her family who lived on the outskirts of Tirion. “They are farmers,” she had said proudly. Everyone knew that the best fruits and vegetables were grown by them. Nihal would sit with her during her breaktimes or dinners as Vórilotsë talked about farming, animal-keeping, and complained about her siblings. Moments like these, all mundane and warm, would make Nihal miss her own world, but the ache was worth it considering how close she felt to her life the more she heard about Vórilotsë’s.

Long story short, it had taken a while for Nihal to find some alone time to sneak off into the garden. As she passed through the entrance, she looked left and right for a sign of onlookers. When she couldn’t see any, she lifted her hands to her ears to block sound, and began walking deep into the garden with a very fast pace, eyes directed at her feet. She walked along tall hedges and trees, only looking up at certain times to see certain landmarks that could help her find her way back to the palace.

She finally came to a stop when she couldn’t see the palace anymore. She found herself amidst tall sycamore trees. Their vibrant, green leaves left small specks of shadows on the forest floor. Silver light mixed with a tinge of gold shone through the branches and leaves. Lady Nerdanel had decided to give her the second half of the day off, so Nihal didn’t have to rush anywhere after this except for dinner, which was not going to be served for hours.

With a heavy sigh, she let her arms fall, allowing the Song to course through her ears and mind with full force. She stood in the middle of the huddled sycamores, stiff and awkward as she tried her best not to fight the stimuli. She closed her eyes, and just listened.

The forest was in an ever-flowing, musical conversation. Its residents answered one another, spoke over each other, and sang together all at the same time. Having never learned how to distinguish different bird types from their chirps, Nihal was unable to put an image on every chirp she was hearing. Slowly she sat down onto the fresh, green grass as she tried to discern what they were speaking of in melodies. It was like listening to a song in a foreign language. The intonations and expressive ups and downs in volume told her the general story, but not the details. She somehow knew that they were talking about a source of food recently discovered. How she knew that she didn’t know. Intuition, she wanted to call it, but the source of the knowledge came from a much surer place than that. She definitely knew that she didn’t want to call it a “wild guess”. She chuckled as she shook her head in disbelief. Was this what it meant to be tied to the world you lived in? What would happen if her soul felt attached to it as well? Nihal felt like she could join the birds in their harmony, or converse with the creaking trees and their rustling leaves in the breeze. The wind amplified the sound of the trees instead of drowning it. The branches of the sycamores around her dipped down towards her in mild interest towards her presence. Nihal had the feeling that such interest was akin to encountering a strange bug rather than a sense of profound wonder. A humbling experience, surely. But while she could discern the theme behind their “talks”, she couldn’t understand them or sort through their language enough to learn the details. Now that she thought about it, she remembered having read about elves who were able to speak to the trees, and even teach the ents language. That was the kind of wisdom she just wasn’t privy to. Perhaps, if she had been a hunter of Oromë, she would’ve been able to.

She didn’t know how long she just sat there under the shade of the trees, listening to the nature symphony until she finally opened her eyes and looked around. She didn’t hurry to shift her gaze away. Instead, under the soft shade of the sycamores, she turned her neck at a very slow pace as she looked hard at every single detail she could see, and sort through the vibrant colors of the forest without any hurry. Her eyes were able to detect every single movement in their periphery, from ants marching on the floor to twitchy squirrels running along branches. It was astonishing, really. She hated to admit it, but compared to this 20/20 sight, humans may as well have been blind. Bloody overpowered, as always, she couldn’t help but grumble. She wasn’t willing to accept this body as hers anytime soon. Even if everything around her was real, the body she was in was borrowed at best. She had every intention of returning it, feeling rather vindictive about it now that she could test some of its “limitations”. She hated how superior it was. Well, she thought, someone was definitely playing favorites among his children. Humans could’ve used some of these buffs. Especially when they have much, much shorter lifespans.

But no matter. She was a human, and a human she wanted to remain. If not in body, then in spirit. She didn’t care if she sounded like a petulant teenager. This was a fact she would hold on to for as long as she stayed here.

Wanting to dispel such thoughts, she abruptly got up. It would be best to get accustomed to this vessel until she found a way out of here. She wasn’t as clumsy in the workshop anymore, but she still didn’t know this body’s full capabilities. As if trying to run away from her own thoughts, she broke into a sprint, venturing further and further into the garden. It worked, in a way, for now, the questions that circled in her head were more along the lines of “How fast can I go?”, “When will I tire?”, “How sharp can I make the turns?”, or “How high can I jump?” Liberated by the reassurance of solitude, she freely ran as fast as she could, jumping over logs and grabbing the low branches of the trees to swing forward and land on her two feet without much effort. She collided with tree trunks three times. Unable to fully control all her limbs at the same time, her arms flailed and as a result, she hit her hand on two different occasions, each one of them ending up with her swearing loudly.

Her body didn’t tire. Not really. She felt like she could run for hours. She couldn’t help but give out a breathy laugh as a swell of elation filled her chest. It was like finally getting to stretch her legs after days of being cooped up inside the house. It was marvelously exhilarating. Aside from the jarring thought of this body not belonging to her, this was the first time ever since her arrival that she felt somewhat… free.

But like all illusions, this too came to an end when Nihal saw the top of the palace tower peeking over the trees. She must’ve circled back to the entrance, unconsciously always favoring one side as she ran in and out of the forest path. She slowed her pace and gradually came to a stop. Her breath came out a little shorter, but it was nowhere near the exhaustion she was sure she would’ve felt had it been her human body. Looking up, she noticed the golden light of Laurelin dominating over the silver of Telperion’s. Almost like a sunset, she tried to tell herself. She huffed and made her way towards the edge of the garden. It was almost time for dinner, she reckoned. The bell would ring soon.

Before she stepped out into the clearing, she stopped. She took a deep breath, allowing the smell of the garden to fill her nose. She didn’t bother sorting through different flowers – she couldn’t even if she wanted to – and just took them all head-on. She listened to the flute of the wind and the subtle cello of the trees. Birds joined in as vocals. And this time, she could see them among the trees as she directed her gaze up towards the high branches and leaves that covered them partially, her eyes catching their movements. She allowed their music to wash over her, and this time, she managed to hold onto herself without getting caught in the current.  

Chapter Text

“How is it that you’re still unable to get this right? It’s the most basic pattern!” Prince Morifinwë mumbled after sparing one glance at Nihal’s work, who was sitting beside him, completely unaware of her mistake until that moment.

Frowning at being called out, she lifted her piece of fabric in front of her eyes to inspect it. Indeed, her last row didn’t match the rest of the pattern. Something had definitely gone wrong at one point.

She had taken up on the prince’s offer to visit him in the weaving workshop. The prince had been surprised to see her there and tried to cover it by clearing his throat and greeting her with a nonchalant manner. But he hadn’t been able to conceal the faint blush reddening his ruddy face further. He had clearly been caught off-guard. It was adorable, if Nihal did say so herself.

After a much more detailed tour of the workshop, the prince had gone back to his own project. A cross stitch with gorgeous flowers and complex patterns. While chatting, Nihal had watched his hand expertly weave vibrant bluebells and irises, various tones of purple and blue sprinkled with gold filling the white canvas bit by bit. Pleased with the admiring attention he was getting, the prince had asked Nihal whether there was a weaving technique she had wanted to try her hand in. And so had their knitting lessons begun. This did bring them closer in terms of friendship, but it also tested the poor prince’s patience. Not a lesson went by without any sarcastic remarks or sassy comebacks. The bickering was slowly turning into a norm.

With a sigh, the fourth son of Fëanáro held out his hand, temporarily putting his work aside. With a small, sheepish smile, Nihal handed him the lump of fabric she had been working on for the last three days. He had tried to teach her how to fix some of the mistakes, but seeing that she was having difficulties doing a simple garter stitch, they had opted to first have her get used to the pattern itself. He would fix her mistakes for her until then.

“Well,” Nihal said, clearly not as embarrassed as she appeared to be. “At least now the mistakes are far and wide in-between.” Upon hearing a soft scoff coming from her teacher, she turned to him fully, “It’s true! I am improving.”

Carnistir looked at her sideways with a smirk on his face, “Sure you are,” he had to concede, but then he leaned in slightly, “At the speed of a snail, though.” Despite the remark, his tone was not frustrated. It was true that he got annoyed many times during the teaching process, but he never got angry with her. Even when he got frustrated, he never raised his voice or outright insulted her, which Nihal appreciated a lot.

That didn’t make these small jabs any less irritating, though.

“Excuse me if I’m not a knitting genius,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m a more slow and steady kind of elf. Besides, if the progress of a student is slow, the teachings of the instructor are to be questioned as well. The student cannot get the whole blame.”

A beat of silence.

Then, with a raised eyebrow and an eerily calm voice, Carnistir asked, “Are you implying that I’m a bad teacher?” One glance at his direction told Nihal not to worry, for he had an amused look on his face, as if he was accepting a challenge.

Taking the fixed fabric from his hands with a nod in thanks, Nihal turned back to her work. “I’m saying that being a genius at something doesn’t automatically make you eligible to teach it. Most of the people who excel at a subject are terrible at explaining or lecturing about it to others who are not at their level.”

The prince huffed indignantly, “My teaching is excellent!” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, “Maybe you’re just a bad student.”

Nihal’s response was instant, “Tell me, Prince Morifinwë, how many students have you had until now? Excluding me, of course.”

“… None.”

Not surprised by the answer one bit, Nihal nodded, “My case in point. Teaching something and knowing something are two different things.” She nudged him with her elbow, “You’re doing a good job, my Prince. Considering this is your first time teaching.”

Said prince grunted and looked away, “You have a way with backhanded compliments.” He was trying to conceal it, but his posture had straightened at her encouragement. It was only appropriate, since he had the patience of a saint (in his own gruff way) while trying to teach her to knit a single line without making any mistakes. It wasn’t his fault that Nihal’s thoughts wandered occasionally, and the poor yarn paid the price. And if Nihal had to be honest, she didn’t come here to just learn how to knit. She didn’t want to be alone with her own thoughts, which asked dangerous questions like:

Why am I still here?

How is it that I’m here?

How do I get out?

What happened to my family? To my world?

While she appreciated Vórilotsë’s energy and good nature, it could be tiring to be around her too much. As for Lady Nerdanel, well… she liked the older woman and even likened her to her own mother sometimes, but that was just it; she reminded her of the family she had been ripped away from. The warmth that she would feel whenever the mistress of the house cared for her in any way was bittersweet. Not to mention the pressure to have the older woman’s eyes on her all the time she helped her at the workshop. Winyavílë still reported to her daily, and she still worried about Nihal’s health.

So, it was refreshing to stop by Carnistir’s workshop every once in a while, to continue her knitting lessons with the prince. The bickering and verbal jabs aside, the two worked in a comfortable silence most of the time, cut occasionally only when the prince calmly corrected her or explained the technique to her.

Said elf turned back to her with a determined smile now, “If teaching a slowpoke like you will prove that anyone can learn under my tutelage, then sure, I’m up for the challenge,” he said.

Nihal sighed exaggeratedly, “Oh fine, I volunteer to be your first experimental subject. You and your future students have a lot to thank me for. I’m taking the brunt of it all for you.”

The prince rolled his eyes, “How will I ever repay you?” he asked with a deadpan voice.

Nihal shrugged, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“I would worry about knitting something useful with that yarn first before demanding a reward, though. You still have a long way to go,” Carnistir pointed out as he caught Nihal from making yet another mistake. He gently directed her hands so that she could do the right knots, looping the strings correctly around the needles. Once convinced all was well again, he let go and took up his own work again. Yet, his careful eyes still darted towards Nihal’s lump of knitted yarn occasionally to see if she had added new mistakes to her arsenal.

Meanwhile, not bothered by being corrected again, Nihal argued, “This can still be something!” She lifted her arms, thus raising the small amount of fabric she had managed to make out of the yarn, “It could be…” she tilted her head first right, then left; trying different angles to make sense of it, “…a scarf?”

If the act of facepalming had a look, it would be the look that the fourth son of Fëanáro was giving her right now, without actually facepalming. Nihal could do nothing but cackle upon witnessing a real, regal elf make such an expression. She didn’t know these otherworldly creatures were even capable of making such faces. The fact that she was the reason behind it made it even funnier to her. I guess I just bring out the worst in people, she thought while she laughed unapologetically.

Meanwhile, the prince was watching her with bewildered eyes, his expression changing from deadpan to mild curiosity. Gosh, Nihal thought, once she started to compose herself, don’t people laugh at their own failures here? Or use self-deprecation as jokes? Life was simply too short for Nihal to worry about “not mastering” the art of knitting. She was human, after all. She didn’t have forever.

Right?

Her chuckles died down slowly as the implications of her still not waking up from this “dream” loomed at the back of her mind, threatening to come to the surface. Bringing her arms and casting her eyes down, she continued to knit the way Carnistir had shown her. The ghost of her smile was still on her face, but now her eyes were dull, indicating that she was far, far away.

The only art she wanted get ambitious about for now was the art of blending in, and that was until it had served its purpose. Over the last few days, she had become much more comfortable with this new body. Accidents didn’t happen as often now, as she was more or less accustomed to elvish strength and speed. And she was no longer overwhelmed by the garden either. But the fact that she was not the real Eӓrien was ever-present in her mind, preventing her from fully accepting her body. Heck, she even had difficulties with answering people when they called her by that name. Not to mention the other crucial fact that although she can speak it somehow, she could neither read nor write in Quenya. She had to figure out how to get someone to teach her without weirding them out. Small things like these reminded her constantly of what she was not.

“This is all a big misunderstanding!” she wanted to shout in frustration. And she would have if she had been able to figure out who her addressee would be. She may or may not also have plans to punch them in the face and kick them where it hurts.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Carnistir semi-shouted the name of the elf whose body she was inhabiting, “Eӓrien!”

“That’s not my name!” she wanted to snarl, but one look at the strange and beautiful creature next to her reminded her where she was and whose presence she was in. She bit the needlessly harsh response back forcefully, and just hummed inquisitively, her expression as nonchalant as possible. It came out as cold and distant.

The fourth prince was frowning with worry upon seeing this sudden change in mood. He also looked less sure of himself. “I said we can take a break if you want. Or call it a day. You seem… out of it. Distracted,” he said calmly, cautiously.

Her first instinct was to deny it immediately, “I’m fine. I’m not distracted.”

Carnistir sighed and gently took the needles and the yarn from her hands, putting them aside. “Yes, you were,” he said, though his tone was nothing but serious. “I called your name multiple times before you noticed it.” He cleared his throat and fully turned to her now. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“I’m not Eӓrien,” she wanted to say. “Please. Someone, anyone, notice it so that you can believe me when I tell you my story!” Nihal sighed and looked down, avoiding the prince’s gaze to allow herself some room to think. These people had most likely never even heard of the Secondborn yet. Even if they had, humans weren’t even created yet. How was she supposed to tell them that she was a different species altogether when she looked like them and have them believe her?

But she was sure of one thing. She didn’t want to be called Eӓrien. It not only made her feel like an imposter, but it also made her feel like she was doing a disservice to the poor nís whose body she was borrowing. It felt like she had killed her or stolen her name. Consumed all that the nís had been and left nothing behind.

She also knew that she couldn’t just ask to be called by her real name. No one would understand what it meant anyway. It was foreign, alien. She had to pick something new. Something that could maybe be driven by the nís’ name but not quite?

Carnistir waited patiently as she looked at her lap in search of an answer and a way to put her scattered thoughts and emotions into an array. Silence stretched between them. But it was not urging her to speak. It was comfortable, thoughtful. Finally coming up with a plausible yet truthful response, she lifted her head and locked eyes with the prince with a small sigh. She congratulated herself for not making it shaky.

“I... Ever since the concussion, I’ve been trying to figure out who I am. Or rather, who I used to be. It’s just that… I’m not there yet, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get there again. Hearing people call me ‘Eӓrien’ feels wrong somehow. Jarring.”

To her internal surprise, Carnistir slowly nodded in understanding. His expression turned kind and sympathetic, albeit still a little rough around the edges, not quite losing its gruffness. He hummed and pursed his lips in contemplation.

As an idea came to him, he tilted his head in a way that, again, reminded Nihal very much of birds. “Why don’t you come up with a new name, then?” he asked. “A derivation of Eӓrien, of course. You tell me what you want me to call you, and I will call you by whatever name you’re comfortable with.”

Nihal felt Eӓrien’s eyes widen at the young prince’s suggestion. Despite the relief that flooded her heart at the fact that the prince himself suggested it before she decided to risk it, her initial reaction was to immediately assume that he was making fun of her. But seeing his genuine, serious expression convinced her otherwise. For the first time since her arrival, she felt that all too familiar stinging behind the eyeballs, signaling that tears were on their way. She bit her inner cheek hard enough to distract the tears away and focus on what he had just said.

“That’s… that’s a good idea,” she conceded. The prince nodded and gave her a small, encouraging smile.

She lifted her gaze up to the ceiling, humming in contemplation. Arm propping up her elbow, she lifted her hand and tapped onto her chin in an exaggerated act of thinking. It helped her suppress her unshed tears. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carnistir’s smile widen at her antics.

“Hmmm… How about ‘Rin’?”

She could almost hear him turn the abbreviation over and over in his mind in the small silence that ensued after her announcement.

A frown of confusion appeared on his face. “‘rin’ what?”

“Just ‘Rin’.”

“Just ‘Rin’? Nothing before or after?” he raised a critical brow. Nihal supposed “-rin-” was mostly used as a prefix or a suffix rather than a name or a nickname here, but she didn’t care. It was short, concise. Dare she say, cute. It was simple, and she desperately sought simplicity. And most importantly, it was hers.

“Yes,” she said, grinning in satisfaction. It was as if she had just come up with a genius idea.

“But… it doesn’t mean anything.” Carnistir tried to point out. His tone wasn’t condescending. He was amused, albeit also a little confused.

“Doesn’t have to,” Rin shrugged. If the world she had stumbled into was unknown to her, then it was only fair that she was unknown to it in turn. Meaningless, even, as everything around her was to her right now. She didn’t care how vindictive that sounded.

“Of all the options you could think of, that’s what you came up with? It’s not even a proper name!”

“And ‘Moryo’ is? Yet is that not what you said your brothers call you, Prince Morifinwë?” she asked with a smirk on her face. They had talked about proper ways to address people as they knitted yesterday, and how especially the royalties called each other.

A begrudging silence announced her victory.

“‘Rin’ it is, then,” the fourth prince sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Rin nodded, grinning. “Yep. ‘Rin’ it is. That’s me.”

******

Rin was confused as to why they had to close the workshop early. Lady Nerdanel was usually very disciplined in the sense that she didn’t start to tidy up until the golden light of Laurelin overwhelmed the silver of Telperion. Sometimes, she would even continue working past that and didn’t have dinner until much later. She would always dismiss Rin on time, though, never tiring her too much.

Once she was done sorting through the regular chisels of various sizes from pointed chisels, Rin put them all into their designated places, namely the wooden cupboard that was installed on the wall. She hung them one by one, mindful of their types and sizes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lady Nerdanel lift the clay model of the sculpture away. Its marble counterpart was standing in the middle of the studio, a lot more grandiose in size and detail. The shape of a great white tree was slowly taking shape. Its intricate branches were spreading more and more every day.

“It’s a rowan tree,” Lady Nerdanel had said to her when she had asked what exactly she was working on. “It’s to be displayed in the garden when it’s done.”

When Rin had commented on how… barren it looked in its clay miniature version and the blueprints, the older nís had chuckled and gave her a smile that neared to a smirk a little too much, “Carving the tree is only half of the project. The other half is to implement the gems to make its leaves and berries.” She had pulled out a colored drawing of its finished version and showed it to her appalled apprentice as if revealing a big secret. “I will use emeralds for the leaves, and pigeon’s blood – a type of ruby – for the berries.”

Rin’s mouth had hung open, “B-but that means hundreds – no, thousands – of gems!” To this, Lady Nerdanel had told her not to worry about the gems, which had had Rin do a double-take. That had made the older woman laugh and gently clap her on the back. Rin hadn’t been sure whether she should be appalled or impressed at the sheer excess of it all. Just the prospect of seeing that many precious gems at the same place was something that pushed her imagination, somehow.  Of course, she had known about how rich Valinor was in every way even before finding herself in this world, but this… Witnessing it firsthand was going to be something else.

Back at the present, Rin grabbed a broom to sweep the dust around the statue, cleaning its perimeter carefully. “Is there a reason behind closing the workshop early today?” she inquired.

“My husband and sons are coming back from their expedition. They’ll be arriving shortly.” Lady Nerdanel supplied.

Rin frowned, “How do you know when they’ll arrive? There was no announcement, was there?” She tried to ignore the churning in her stomach. It was unsurprisingly worse than the night she met Carnistir.

Unaware of her internal struggle, Lady Nerdanel had said, as if the answer was obvious, “Well, I felt it, of course. My husband’s presence is near.” When she saw that it didn’t help with her young apprentice’s confusion one bit, she added softly, “Our minds and souls are linked.” She had a slightly more understanding expression on her face now. She had undoubtedly remembered how Rin had struggled with ósanwë, but she was still surprised at the fact that some very fundamental concepts had to be explained to her as well. It was as if amnesia hadn’t only taken parts of Eӓrien’s own identity but also made her forget how to be an Eldar. It was a worrisome combination from the older woman’s perspective.

“Oh, right!” Rin murmured, smiling shyly.

Before there could be an awkward silence, however, Lady Nerdanel threw a cursory look around the workshop. Satisfied with what she was seeing, she began to take off her apron. “I think we’re quite done here. I have to go downstairs and let the servants know. Could you lock the workshop once you’re done?”

The young elf nodded, returning to vigorously sweeping the floor. She was about to feel relief upon not being instructed to join them at the palace entrance, but the mistress of the house shot her hopes down with her next sentence. “And Rin? Do come to the front entrance as soon as you can, will you? So that we can greet them. Find me and Carnistir once you’re finished.”

Rin couldn’t help but wince a little at the request. She lifted her head to ask whether she could not just go to her chambers afterwards, but the older woman had already left. She sighed in frustration, grumbling to herself. She wasn’t kidding when she had thought that she would have had an aneurism if she had met all of the Fëanorians at once. That statement still held. She could already feel her heart hammering inside her ribcage, threatening to burst out of it. She considered not listening to Lady Nerdanel, but in the short period of time she had known her, Rin had begun to feel like disappointing the older woman would be much like disappointing her own mother. Neither of the women were easy to disappoint, but once you did, you would feel extremely bad about it. Sometimes the “I’m disappointed in you” look is more devastating than that of “I’m mad at you”.

The mistress of the House of Fëanáro had also been extremely surprised when she heard that her son and Vórilotsë started to call her “Rin”. They had had to explain to her that it was only a short, unique version of Eӓrien, like “Lottie” or “Moryo”. And while that explanation had eased her worries a little bit, she was still extremely concerned with Rin struggling to figure out who she had been before her concussion.

Upon further introspection, Rin could understand the older woman somewhat. It was one thing when others gave you a name based on aspects of your identity, qualities that you already possess and display on occasion, but to give yourself a new name must be like changing your whole identity as fast as changing clothes in the eyes of an elf. It would be as if the person had no essence at all. The action would hold more weight for the elves, who preferred constancy and yearned for stability above all else. After all, it was the only thing that wouldn’t change in an ever-changing, uncertain world. Your sense of self – which is closely connected to your name – is the thing you could always rely on. Others naming you would only help with the construct that is your essence, like droplets falling into a well. Changing it would mean changing your very nature. It would mean putting something else rather than adding to it. A scary concept, no doubt. In that respect, naming oneself anew would be a bit of a taboo. But Lady Nerdanel had feared the possibility of a “new” name making her young charge become more lost than ever. 

But this was not a real name. The prince hadn’t asked her to come up with a completely different name anyway. It was a nickname that was derived from an already existing one. An incomplete name, as Carnistir had quite eloquently pointed out, because to the present owner of this elvish body, Eӓrien was incomplete. She could only hope that time would help her close the gaps. This had ultimately helped ease Lady Nerdanel’s obvious worries, and she too had started to fall into the habit of calling her “Rin” despite her initial reservations. But seeing that this resulted in the uplifting of her charge’s mood, compliance with the request had come easier each time. If the daughter of her best friend was happy, she was happy.

But not going to greet the Crown Prince of the Noldor and his sons was another matter, of course. It was a matter of decorum and respect. It wouldn’t do to act like a feral person. Rin tried to tell herself that this was like greeting relatives when they come to visit your family house. Except the house belongs to them, and you’re the guest, she thought grimly. That made her presence even more imperative. She had been taught manners after all. But she didn’t have to linger afterwards, surely? She could just excuse herself or disappear into the crowd once she greeted them, right? Surely Lady Nerdanel would allow her that.

With these thoughts circling her head, Rin took off her apron and hung it on the hook near the door. Grabbing the keys, she stepped out of the workshop and gingerly closed the door behind her.

******

The moment she stepped into the corridor, the sound of hurrying footsteps from all over the palace filled her ears. Servants came running from various parts of the grand palace to flock around the front entrance in an orderly manner. If Rin hadn’t known any better, the whole thing looked staged and organized beforehand, like a choreography. She snorted and shook her head in amusement at the thought.

As she joined the ever-flowing mass of elves, she rose to her tiptoes to try and find Lady Nerdanel and Prince Morifinwë. Shortly after her arrival, she had found out that while she was now much taller than most of the humans, the same didn’t apply to her elvish peers. Much to her disappointment, she was rather a little shorter than average compared to the others.

She found Vórilotsë first. Or rather, she found her. Rin whirled around when she felt a light hand holding her shoulder. “Lottie,” she greeted the young chambermaid with a nervous smile. “Do you know where Lady Nerdanel and Prince Morifinwë are? I was told to go to them right away.”

Vórilotsë’s eyes widened, “You were asked to the front?!” Judging by the way she bit her lower lip, Rin could instantly recognize that the young chambermaid was nervous on her behalf. This didn’t help Rin’s own anxiety one bit.

“Wh-why would you say it like that?” she demanded, but Vórilotsë had already grabbed her hand and started dragging her through the crowd. She slid through the elves easily, while Rin bumped into every person she came across, busy trying to quell her internal screaming and panicked thoughts.

Lady Nerdanel and Prince Morifinwë were standing at the front, a little apart from the crowd.

“Thank you, Vórilotsë,” said Lady Nerdanel, nodding and smiling at the chambermaid appreciatively. “You should go and help the others prepare the rooms.”

Vórilotsë bowed, “Right away, my Lady,” and before Rin could beg her to stay, she was gone. With a frustrated huff that she hoped was inaudible, the only human in Valinor turned forward, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the royals. She stood behind Lady Nerdanel and her son, praying that she wouldn’t be demanded to stand next to them. Thankfully, no such thing was asked of her. She fought the urge to make herself smaller.

Carnistir did turn her way slightly, though, and said lightly, “About time you showed up.” Seeing how nervous she was – she was terrible at hiding it, apparently – the smirk that was beginning to form on his lips turned into a much softer smile that felt encouraging.

Rin was touched by his rather clumsy attempt at calming her down. With a smile of her own, she gave out an exaggerated sigh, “I admit, I was considering going to my chambers instead of coming here.”

The prince snorted, “I don’t think Mother would’ve allowed or forgiven such an act of discourteous behavior. Believe me when I say that I speak from experience.”

Rin raised a brow, “And I can say from experience that neither you nor I are courteous individuals.” This time, both of them chuckled until they noticed the warning glare that Lady Nerdanel was sending their way. Both the prince and the Lady’s ward shut their mouths after that, the remnants of laughter that were killed before they could bubble out of their mouth still visible in their close-lipped smiles.  

The sound of hooves on smooth cobblestones sobered Rin up immediately. Her anxiety, momentarily forgotten thanks to Carnistir, returned in an instant along with a sense of anticipation. It was something akin to meeting a celebrity. The same thing she had felt before meeting the fourth son of Fëanáro. As she peered behind the shoulders of Lady Nerdanel and her son, Rin’s far-seeing, elvish eyes saw another crowd – a much less orderly one than that of here – that have gathered right outside of the palace gates. People that have semi-surrounded the riders in awe and curiosity as the objects of their attention were heading inside. I guess I’m not the only one who thinks of them as celebrities, Rin thought. Royalties, famous artists and craftsmen held the same star-power in every world regardless of the species, maybe. When she glanced at the crowd of servants standing behind her in silence, she could see that although they were calm and collected, they too shared a sense of anticipation. She could almost feel the tension that was in the air.

The gates opened, and the anticipated members of the household entered with many horse-carts trailing behind them. Stuff that they had bought and gathered during their expeditions, no doubt. But Rin could hardly pay any attention to those items. Her entire focus was on the seven figures who rode gorgeous horses.

The elf who was leading his group to the courtyard was none other than the Crown Prince Fëanáro. Even though she had never seen him in person, from his proud posture and fiery glint in his eyes, Rin knew exactly who he was. He had a steely expression that reminded her of Lady Nerdanel’s own determined gaze, but his was unsettling rather than reassuring. He was indeed handsome, and she could see why some called him the greatest and the most beautiful of the Eldar. There was a wild grace in his movements as he rode towards them and gestured his sons to follow him in. A grace he was obviously born into. His blood-red traveling cloak billowed as he directed his horse. When his bright silver eyes landed on the three people waiting at the front, a small smile appeared on his well-structured face, the blaze of his eyes dimming into a warm glint as he spotted his wife and son waiting for him.

The flash of fiery red hair that followed him was the second thing that Rin noticed. The owner of those wavy copper-strands was a tall elf that Rin immediately recognized as Prince Nelyafinwë Maitimo. He had to be. The strands of dark red that fell onto his pale face framed it beautifully, complementing it by contrasting it. His facial features were a little softer, less angular than his father’s, and so were his eyes. His calm expression gave the impression of practiced ease and discipline, but his eyes were soft and warm with reassuring solidity. Every once in a while, they darted towards the end of their line to his younger brothers, making sure that they were following close behind. Rin half-expected him to have armor on, but he wasn’t wearing one. She had to remind herself that he wouldn’t need to. Not in Valinor. Instead, he was wearing a maroon, dark-purple traveling cloak that complimented his hair wonderfully. He was wearing ordinary but well-woven hunting attire that hugged his well-shaped body comfortably. Stop gawking! Rin chastised herself and forced her gaze away from Prince Fëanáro’s and Lady Nerdanel’s firstborn. Judging by the mild ruckus at the palace gates, she wasn’t the only one who was, in human terms, fangirling over him. She pinched herself on the leg hard for distraction, all the while wishing she could stop the burning of her cheeks.  

She silently congratulated herself when she managed to turn her gaze away before she could embarrass herself. An elf with dark hair was coming right behind the eldest son. His face was a little thinner, which made his beautiful, long-lashed eyes pop out more. His movements were even more bird-like than those of Carnistir’s, all the more graceful and fluid. He had a charming smile on his face, and his eyes shone with the dramatic flare of an artist. If that wasn’t any indicator enough of who he was, then the case of a flute strapped to his shoulder would certainly give it away. Prince Kanafinwë Makalaurë’s own outfit of dark blue added to this wonderfully colorful and lively entourage, following his father and brother.

And then, like a flash of lightning came Prince Turcafinwë Tyelkormo. He wore a lax but dangerous smile on his face as he waved, one that indicated that he knew its effects on the many nís at the palace gates, who were no doubt swooning over it. Rin now understood that his nickname “Celegorm the fair” came not only from his beautiful features, but also from his naturally platinum-blond hair that rippled freely around his head with the wind. His dark, forest-green attire complimented it perfectly. He had an easy-going air about him, and a look that screamed he was used to the attention.

By his side rode Prince Curufinwë Atarincë, who wore a dark-red attire similar to his father’s. And indeed, he looked much like Fëanáro. Well, Rin thought, there was a reason why he was named Atarincë, you know. He had a regal air about him, and a bored expression that made him look a lot older than he probably was. His harsh voice rang out in the courtyard as the twins, the Ambarussa, chatted and playfully shoved each other while riding. Like Prince Nelyafinwë, they sported wavy red hair that was partially braided but otherwise let loose. Their outfit of green was more similar to that of Prince Turcafinwë’s, though. Like him, their bows and arrows were on full display. Could they belong to Oromë’s group of hunters as well? Upon their older brother’s warning, they ceased their shoving, but they did continue to talk in hushed voices.

Out of all the brothers, Prince Turcafinwë had the most unnatural eyes, Rin decided. There was a certain predatory glint in them. Inhuman. She tried to quickly dispel the thought, since he was, in fact, not a human. But there was a certain… uncertainty behind his gaze. Like he was searching for something wherever or whoever he directed his eyes at. When he turned towards Rin, Lady Nerdanel and Carnistir, she felt his steel eyes bore right through her. Oromë’s hunter cocked his head to the side slightly, noticing her standing behind his mother and brother immediately. Rin fought the urge to hide behind them.

Thankfully, Carnistir moved to cover her – either intentionally or unintentionally – when his father and elder brothers dismounted their horses and strode towards their small group after handing the rains to the grooms waiting at the side. Lady Nerdanel, too, had stepped forward. Rin stood behind, not daring to move. Instead, she preferred to observe the interaction from afar, and hoped that she would only be forced to interact in forms of greeting.

While Crown Prince Fëanáro was quick to hand his rains to the groomer with a nod of acknowledgement, his firstborn son took his time to stop and talk to the servant who took over his horse, engaging in small conversation with the elf. So Prince Kanafinwë was quick to take his older brother’s place in the line, going immediately after his father to greet his mother and brother.

Rin silently observed the subtle but joyous way Lady Nerdanel greeted her husband. Her calm expression was only betrayed by the way her eyes lit up upon seeing him. They didn’t hug or kiss, but silently murmured their greetings and touched their foreheads together, their hands cupping each other’s faces briefly before letting go. Rin tried not to gawk in awe at their interaction, her face heating up once more as she suddenly took interest at her feet. She tried not to think about how the Fëanáro was standing right in front of her in flesh and bones. She was, as expected, extremely overwhelmed. Is this for real? Is this really happening right now?

While these panicked thoughts were swirling inside her head, Rin barely had time to lift her head and noticed that the Lord of the house had just finished greeting his fourth son with a clap on the shoulder and warm words, directing his attention to her. She could hear her pulse banging in her ears. At any moment now, Rin was sure that she was going to pass out. When she indeed came face to face with the elf, she felt the full weight of his calculating gaze on her. After a few seconds, he turned his gaze towards his wife, who nodded at him silently with a smile on her face. Whatever words they were exchanging, it was happening in private. Moments later, a convinced but also critical expression appeared on the Crown Prince’s face as he directed his gaze back to Rin. Then, miraculously, she was spared by a simple nod of acknowledgement which Rin barely had the sense of answering it with a small bow of her own, and the Crown Prince was gone. His red cloak billowing behind him, he headed inside the palace.

Rin released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She felt her knees going weak. Noticing her plight, Lady Nerdanel immediately offered her arm as support, an apologetic smile on her face. She murmured to the younger nís that her husband could be intense for those who meet him the first time. So this is a normal occurrence, Rin grumbled in her mind, lovely. To be honest, I expected nothing less. Nevertheless, she was glad that he didn’t talk to her. She didn’t think she would’ve even heard him with all that blood pounding in her ears. She did hear Carnistir’s silent snort next to her, though, clearly having fun at her expense. She had enough sense to lift her gaze and glare at him, which he answered with a brow lifted in amusement.

“Oh, shut up,” she murmured, mustering as much hatred in her silent snap as she could.

“I didn’t say anything,” he shot back.

“You’re thinking too loud. I don’t need bloody ósanwë to know what you’re thinking.”

“Children – ” Lady Nerdanel opened her mouth to stop them from bickering, but it came to a natural stop when Prince Kanafinwë approached them, followed closely by Prince Nelyafinwë. Rin wanted to bury her face in her hands and hide herself from the world because Oh God, it’s not over yet.

“Mother,” the melodic voice of Prince Kanafinwë resonated from the prince’s chest, and Rin felt the bizarre feeling of air shifting around them. She couldn’t help but frown in confusion, looking around in search for the sudden sense of… rippling. But then she realized that the feeling intensified whenever Prince Kanafinwë spoke. He was talking with his mother and brother excitedly about his travels and the songs he had started working on, obviously happy to see them. And the air crackled with unseen energy, somehow. Like there was a joyous storm gathering that reflected his mood, but when Rin looked up, she saw that the day was as bright as it always had been.

Is this what Songs of Power feel like? She thought, horrified as well as amazed. She could barely concentrate on what the prince was saying, as she was too busy paying attention to the effects of words and voice. Or a fraction of their power, at least.

And finally, the second eldest son of Fëanáro turned to her. With a small nod of greeting accompanied by a smile, he said politely, “It is lovely to see you again.” The sense of crackling energy was gone, and his voice didn’t resonate as deeply and echoingly as before, but it was still mesmerizing.

It was easier for Rin to recover this time around, “Likewise, Prince Kanafinwë,” she said, giving him a small half-bow. All right, she gave herself a mental pep talk. Calm down. You can do this. Don’t forget that they are just people.

People who can shape the world with songs, she interrupted her inner voice with again, her own inner voice.  

Now that is an extremely unnecessary thought to have, she scolded herself. She needed to calm down, not panic.

But thankfully, the prince headed inside after the little exchange. His place was promptly taken by Prince Nelyafinwë. Coming to his chest at best, Rin had to slightly tilt her head upwards to look at him. And as soon as she saw him, though, she dragged her gaze down at her feet. He looks even better up-close, she said internally through gritted teeth, dammit!

“Maitimo,” said Lady Nerdanel, clearly delighted to see her eldest. She stepped closer to him as her son bowed his head, allowing her to kiss him on the forehead with a smile on his face as he greeted her. “I hope your brothers didn’t cause too much trouble for you?” she asked, her voice mirroring her sympathetic smile.

“They were… manageable,” Prince Nelyafinwë said with a tired chuckle.

“You should’ve stayed at home too,” said Prince Morifinwë, his voice a little tight with worry for his older brother. “You deserve to take a break from… this.” It was clear that he had immense respect for him. Rin could see that he was “secretly” very happy and excited that his brother was back, though he did his best to hide it. It was her turn to try to hold her snort, which the fourth prince immediately noticed and was quick to throw a withering look at her direction. She bit her upper lip to keep herself from smiling widely.

Seemingly unaware of their silent exchange that lasted a millisecond at most, the oldest son of Fëanáro said, “Don’t worry, Moryo, it wasn’t that bad. Besides, Kano was there to help as well.” Addressing both his mother and his brother, he added, “We dropped by Haru Finwë’s Court. There is much to catch up on, so all turned out well in the end.”

Rin listened to their conversation silently as she looked down onto the ground, slightly swinging at the balls of her feet with her hands clasped at her back. She lifted her face whenever she heard a new voice as the rest of the brothers cane and greeted them. She was much calmer now that the attention was not on her. The twins peered at her curiously for a few seconds before they turned their gaze back to Carnistir, and started to harass him with their endless chattering. When they talked to their mother, both of them spoke over each other or completed each other’s sentences, competing for Lady Nerdanel’s attention as they struggled to be the one to tell noteworthy anecdotes of their travels. Neither Prince Curufinwë nor Prince Turcafinwë paid much attention to her. Barely sparing a glance at her, they focused on greeting their mother, talking about the abundance of game and lightly provoking Carnistir with snide comments. Too busy with her own thoughts to be offended at their indifference, Rin was happy to just stand in the background and partially listen to the voices of the elves as they conversed with each other.

 But then, she was yanked out of her own mind when a familiar baritone voice said, “Eӓrien, correct?” Rin’s head snapped back up in startlement. It was none other than Prince Nelyafinwë, who hadn’t gone inside the palace yet like most of his brothers had done, and was now standing right in front of her with a curious glint in his grey eyes.

He was the first one among his brothers – aside from Carnistir, of course – who directly addressed her with her name. Well, not her name, but still. The name of the elf whose body she was currently in. Rin wasn’t sure if the halt of her heartbeat was because of the fact that he remembered Eӓrien’s name or because she was surprised that someone spoke directly to her.

Quit acting like a frickin’ schoolgirl! She throttled herself inwardly. Her mind temporarily drawing blank, she managed to smile and slightly bow at the prince, “Yes, Prince Nelyafinwë.”

“I hope you’re not having problems adjusting to the palace,” he said, his tone inquisitive.

“I’m working on it,” she tried to say, realizing how lame her words were sounding. But her sentence was overlapped by that of Carnistir’s.

“Rin had a severe concussion about seven days ago,” he said almost at the same time, “Lost her memories.”

Prince Nelyafinwë’s eyes widened, “Truly?” He glanced between Lady Nerdanel, Rin, and Carnistir. Rin could only nod in confirmation, hoping beyond hope that she didn’t look as dumb as she thought she did.

“Winyavílë saw to her injuries, but he couldn’t do anything about the lost memories,” Lady Nerdanel sighed, her gaze softening as her eyes landed on Rin. “So we called for a healer from the Gardens, but they weren’t of any help either.”

“How about a Maia?” asked Prince Nelyafinwë, a small frown of concern marring his beautiful face.

This time, Lady Nerdanel looked slightly angry, “They wouldn’t send us one. There is no need to, apparently, since this is not a life-threatening situation.” She shook her head in disapproval, “They said the memories would come in time, and that we should be patient.”

Carnistir scoffed, “Humph. Sounds like them,” he crossed his arms over his chest. Rin almost wanted to chuckle at the endearing way he got angry on behalf of her. It was almost adorable. Almost.

 Prince Nelyafinwë, on the other hand, pursed his lips into a grim line of contemplation. He didn’t seem too surprised at the obvious negligence.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to take it if an awkward silence broke out, Rin hurriedly added, “I’m feeling much better now, though. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure the memories will come back sooner or later,” She tried to convey into her words the level of confidence that she most definitely didn’t have.

Prince Nelyafinwë looked at her up and down. His gaze was critical, but it was nothing like the one that Fëanáro had given her. It wasn’t seizing her up. Instead, it was merely checking her condition. It was softer, less judgmental.

He finally sighed, “Well, I’ll have to take your and the healers’ words for it. I’m not well versed in healing after all.”

Feeling a lot more comfortable now, she waved her hand as if trying to dismiss his lingering worries, “It’ll be fine, I’m sure,” I’ll be gone by then, hopefully. “I’ve even taken up apprenticeship at Lady Nerdanel’s workshop.” She tried not to look too proud of that.

A smile broke out on the eldest prince’s face. “Is that so? Then we’ll be seeing each other a lot in the next few days.” Seeing her eyes widen with surprise, the prince said, “Ours was not just a hunting expedition. We stopped by some mines and jewelers. Brought some raw gems for Mother to use in her current project.”

 “Will you be helping me, Maitimo?” Lady Nerdanel asked, her excitement at the prospect of her eldest son helping her with her rowan tree visible in her eyes even though her expression and voice remained calm.

“Haru doesn’t need me at the court at the moment,” the prince said, “I will be returning there in ten days. Until then, I’m at your service, Mother.”

“How delightful!” Lady Nerdanel smiled.

“Yes,” Carnistir said with a small smirk on his face, “Hopefully it will be more delightful than the knitting lessons.”

Rin had to stop herself from throwing a murderous look at the fourth prince. But she did roll her eyes, her annoyance winning against her nervousness.

“You’re teaching her?” Prince Nelyafinwë asked incredulously. His gaze flickered between Rin and his brother.

“I wouldn’t call him a teacher,” Rin grumbled.

“And I wouldn’t call her a student,” Carnistir shot back. But they both had smiles on their faces. Lady Nerdanel sighed in fond exasperation at their bickering, shaking her head as the two argued back and forth about the same topic for the third time in seven days. Meanwhile, Prince Nelyafinwë watched the exchange with interest, occasionally stealing meaningful glances at his mother that neither Rin nor Carnistir noticed.

When she turned her gaze towards Prince Nelyafinwë with a huff and a look that said “See what I have to deal with?”, momentarily forgetting where she was and who she was talking to, she noticed with a start that the eldest son of Fëanáro was looking at her curiously, as if he was seeing her for the very first time. Well, she thought, he is seeing me for the first time. But he couldn’t possibly know that, right?

Before she could fidget in discomfort, though, he chuckled and dropped his gaze, shaking his head, “I apologize,” he said, “I’m just appalled at the fact that you managed to befriend my brother in such a short amount of time, let alone having him agree to teach you how to knit.”

“What am I, a wild animal?” muttered Carnistir, rolling his eyes. Rin couldn’t help but snicker at that, feeling her nervousness dissipating bit by bit. “Besides,” he added, “You should see the scarf she is making, háno. It’s full of… creative patterns.”

“So we agree that it can and will be a scarf!” she said triumphantly. “And hey!” Rin huffed, embarrassed at last, “Baby steps, alright? I know that this is a hard thing for you to understand,” she said this as if she was explaining a new subject, “but not everyone is a genius. Novel concept, I know.”  

“Ah,” Prince Nelyafinwë mused before Carnistir could retort back, a mischievous smile on his face, “Speaking of babies, it was only yesterday that you were walking around with colorful, elfling-sized knitting needles and showing off your yarns to everyone you came across, Moryo.”  

Rin’s eyes widened with incredulity at what she was hearing. She snorted and covered her mouth in an attempt to suppress the laughter that was bubbling inside her chest. The adorable picture of a baby Moryo, with his ruddy and chubby face, waddling around clutching a child-sized knitting set in his small fists and running up to people to show his masterpiece with a puffed-up chest wouldn’t leave her mind. If this wasn’t an adorably embarrassing equivalent of family members pulling out photo albums of a person’s childhood to show them to their friends, then she didn’t know what it was. It was a humbling experience no matter which world one was living in or the species one belonged to, apparently.

“Nelyo!” Carnistir gasped, betrayal audible in his voice.

“Th-that’s adorable!” Rin exclaimed.

“He really was.” Lady Nerdanel agreed as Prince Nelyafinwë let out a low sound of laughter. It had a nice ring to it, Rin decided. Almost as resonating as Prince Kanafinwë’s melodious voice.

His face now blushed a deep shade of red, Carnistir huffed and scoffed, looking at anywhere but them. Despite his embarrassment, though, he chuckled along with them.

Being the first one to sober up, Prince Nelyafinwë said, laughter lingering in his smile, “I will see you and Eӓrien in the workshop on the morrow, then, Mother,” he said to Lady Nerdanel, who nodded back at him. He turned to his brother and clasped him gently on the shoulder, “It’s good to see you again, Moryo,” he said softly. Carnistir in turn bowed his head slightly, a small smile appearing on his face. And finally, the eldest son turned to Rin. Their eyes met, and once again she saw that thoughtful glint in his eyes. This time, though, she held his gaze. Finally, he nodded at her, and she responded with a little bow. He turned his back on her and began climbing up the stairs towards the palace entrance, followed closely by Lady Nerdanel and Carnistir. Rin deliberately walked slowly to remain behind, taking a moment to look back at the palace courtyard, which was still buzzing with servants running around trying to arrange all the goods that the princes had brought with them. Her eyes wandered over to the palace gates. She should probably let Lady Nerdanel know that she wanted to visit Tirion soon. Hopes of encountering a Maia there aside, she also wanted to see the famous elven city for herself. Seeing the family dynamics of the household had filled her with warmth as well as a sense of melancholy that threatened to crush her. She fought down the lump forming in her throat and followed the rest of the family when she heard Lady Nerdanel’s voice calling for her.

Chapter Text

Rin had to strain her neck to see past the heavy box of emeralds she was carrying as she slowly made her way up the stairs of the palace entrance. “Thank God the workshop’s on the ground floor,” she mumbled to herself as she passed through the wide-open gates.

 It had been quite a few days since Fëanáro and his sons arrived, bringing with them several boxes of all sorts or materials for arts and crafts, including the emeralds and rubies that Lady Nerdanel had wanted. Rin realized that she hadn’t known what “hectic” meant in the House of Fëanáro until then. The family hadn’t even waited a day or two to rest after their long journey. Instead, they had started working the next day immediately, much to Rin’s astonishment and ire. How is it fair that they have so much stamina?! She thought on more than one occasion, grumbling to herself as she observed how tirelessly they worked, and how passionate they were about it. Fëanáro and his son Curufin had thrown themselves into their forges and jewelry workshops the day after their arrival, and had half of the emeralds and rubies brought to their doorsteps by the servants. The other half were brought to Lady Nerdanel and her son Prince Nelyafinwë so that they could be shaped and carved into leaves and berries to decorate the rowan tree. Rin supposed that it would now take much less time to finish the project when more people helped make it a reality.

Like everyone else, Carnistir got extremely busy as well. He had told her that he was to take stock of what had been brought from the expedition. Now the nér was cooped up in his office, scribbling numbers and the names of the materials into parchments.

There was so much to do now, and so many places to be. As Lady Nerdanel’s apprentice/assistant, Rin and some of the servants were to help bring the processed and unprocessed jewels back and forth from storage-rooms to workshops, or sometimes from workshop to workshop.  She didn’t have a direct hand in the project, though, and she was more than happy to keep it that way. With Prince Nelyafinwë’s help, the branches of the rowan tree got thinner and thinner the more the marble was carved and shaped. The work had gotten so intricate that Rin would be afraid to even touch it with her bare hands, let alone with a chisel and a hammer.

And here she now was, making her way to Lady Nerdanel’s workshop early to have the last box of emerald leaves ready to be applied to the white marble tree. Whether they would start with bejeweling the tree the very same day, she didn’t know. The mistress of the house had said that they still had work to do with the marble before that. But Rin was to carry the finished materials to the workshop anyway so as to not crowd the others.

As Rin made her way through the corridor, walking past Lady Nerdanel’s previous projects (all the while keeping her distance so she didn’t topple them), she noticed that the door of the workshop was slightly open.  A frown appeared on her face, her confusion making her stop in her tracks for a few seconds. She hadn’t stopped by the workshop, but instead had gone straight to get the boxes. After dismissing her “early” yesterday, Lady Nerdanel had given her a spare key to the workshop, saying that she would open it to bring the boxes inside early tomorrow.

Did she forget to lock the door before retiring? She asked herself, but she already knew the answer. The Lady of the house was never that reckless, especially when it came to anything regarding her craft.

With a sigh, Rin adjusted the box in her arms, making its contents bounce a little. Thankfully, it was closed, so none of the emeralds spilled out. Although, that might change the longer she held it.

She gently pushed the door wide open with her foot, and shuffled inside with effort, huffing and puffing in exertion.

“Eӓrien?” came the voice of Prince Nelyafinwë from behind the box.

Oh, so he was the one who opened the door, Rin thought as she stepped further into the room. Straining her neck to peek from the side of the box, she locked eyes with the eldest prince. “Oh, hello, Prince Nelyafinwë,” she managed to say. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve been nervous a little at the prospect of talking to the Maedhros alone.

In the days after his arrival, they had shared the same space as they each helped Lady Nerdanel in their own way – him with carving and her with doing errands and assisting – but they hadn’t interacted with each other much. Plus, Lady Nerdanel had always been there to make things less awkward, making them all focus on the task at hand.

But she could feel her arms trembling, so she made a beeline for the storage area of the workshop, desperately trying to dodge objects so as to not bump into them and make a mess.

“Do you need help with that?” asked Prince Nelyafinwë, the slightest bit of worry audible in his tone. She heard him get up from his place on the divan by the window.

“N-no no! It’s fine. I’ve got it,” she tried to reassure him through gritted teeth. She wanted to show everyone that although she was an “oddball” by their standards, she was reliable, if nothing else. Besides, what was the point of enhanced strength if you don’t use it? Half-blind from the huge box she was carrying, she trudged on. As she did, she heard the scraping of wood on the stone-tiled floor as chairs or tables that would normally be in her way were removed. These were the only indicators of Prince Nelyafinwë moving about in the workshop. For all his stature, he was surprisingly quiet and agile, opening a path for her whenever it was needed, and steadying the statues and pottery that she lightly hit as she passed without making a sound. He was barely in her peripheral vision, but she knew he was there. 

Rin could feel her face heating up as he finally bent down to put the box down. “I’ve got it” my ass, she thought. For once, she was thankful that the box had been covering her face. She straightened abruptly, pushing the loose strands of her hair back with a sigh, “Whew,” she hoped her embarrassment didn’t show too much, “Thanks for the help,” she mumbled.

“Don’t even mention it,” he said, and courteously turned his back on her to return to his place by the window, where Rin now noticed were a charcoal pencil and a sketchbook lying. He must’ve come to the workshop early to sketch while waiting for his mother. He settled onto the divan comfortably, and resumed reviewing his sketch, editing it here and there occasionally. She remembered from one of her first conversations with Lady Nerdanel when the older nís had told her that he drew and painted. Though, she couldn’t help but feel a little surprised, since from the moment of his arrival, she had seen him do nothing but sculpt in terms of art. Not that he wasn’t brilliant at that, but this was his mother’s project after all, and it was to be made in her vision, ultimately. The sketches were purely his creations, and Rin was curious as to what those looked like. Not to mention that unusual painting of his she had seen earlier which looked eerily like a sky during sunset.

She was supposed to wait for Lady Nerdanel’s arrival at the workshop anyways, so why not just pass the time? She hated standing in the middle of the workshop uselessly, though, so she put on her work-apron and began to open the cupboards and drawers to pull out the utensils Lady Nerdanel and her son might need. “So…” she began, “you draw as well as sculpt, then. I’ve seen a few of your works displayed on the wall out there. Just wanted to say I like them very much. Especially the one with all those chaotic colors in the sky.” Unconsciously using a chisel to scratch the back of her head, she added, “Though you must hear that from people all the time.”

Looking up from his sketchbook, the prince looked at her with eyes slightly widened. He clearly hadn’t expected her to start up a conversation. For a brief second, his gaze fell on the way she nervously scratched her head and fiddled with the utensils. Rin had to make a conscious effort to stop fidgeting when she realized his stare, since she had learned that elves didn’t do awkward. A soft, thoughtful smile appeared on his face when she mentioned her favorite painting. From the way he looked down, Rin assumed the painting hadn’t gotten as much attention or praise as the others. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice as soft as his smile. When he looked up, though, he raised an inquisitive brow, “Though I must say, while that painting catches the attention of many, it is hardly anyone’s favorite.” With a small shrug, he added, “I don’t think it’s my favorite either. If it hadn’t been for Mother, it probably wouldn’t have even been displayed.”

“Why, though?” Rin huffed, her voice coming out slightly haughty before she knew it. “I think it’s beautiful. And the most interesting one out there if you ask me. Lady Nerdanel was definitely onto something for deciding to display it.” Her nervousness slowly dissipated the more they talked about this topic. “And you, my prince,” she said, nodding her head towards him as she broke out of her stance to put the chisels on the working tables neatly. “You were definitely onto something while creating it.” While her initial thought upon seeing the painting for the first time was how much it looked like a sunset, the more she’d thought about it, the more she’d begun to feel like there was more to it than meets the eye. A spiritual or mental story that people weren’t privy to. One that didn’t match with the other paintings of perfect depictions of scenery or forest creatures, and lacked the usual, harmonical color palettes. An inner discord or disquietude, perhaps? She wasn’t sure if asking about the intentions or thoughts of the artist wouldn’t count as being too nosy, especially when this was their third or fourth proper conversation.

  She looked up from the table where she placed the hammers in surprise when she heard a short, breathy laugh, “Well, I’m glad that there’s at least someone who likes it enough to get rather defensive over it.”

Rin could feel that familiar sense of blush creeping back on her face. His tone and expression indicated that he wasn’t making fun of her, but clearly something about her response had been amusing to him. Maybe it was the way she had said it? She frowned indignantly, dropping her gaze back to her own work as she grumbled “I just think that perfection is overrated, is all.”

That sobered the prince. A rather serious look was on his face now, his laughter momentarily freezing before turning back into a soft smile. A smile that was different from the first one, somehow. “Do you really think so?” he asked quietly. Something flashed in his eyes, but before Rin could discern what it was, it vanished.  

The subtle change in attitude didn’t escape the young nís’ attention, though. “Yes,” she said truthfully.

A moment of silence passed between them. Rin had to make a conscious effort to stop herself from interrogating the prince further on the matter. Surely asking more about the painting would annoy him. This wasn’t an interview after all. It was a rather intimate topic, from the looks of it. Interpreting an art-piece was one thing, but pestering its artist about it? Especially when said artist was Maedhros. Well, not yet “Maedhros”, but still!

The elf who was yet to be Maedhros sighed and leaned back against the wall, lifting his sketchbook. His smile still lingered on his face, but it was now largely replaced by a thoughtful expression as he studied his drawings. “I must admit, it is surprising to see you this… opinionated. Or bold, for that matter.”

“Is that a problem?” Rin couldn’t help but ask. She hadn’t said anything bad, after all. She had merely complemented his work. But there was a hint of uncertainty in her tone. Who knew what kind of a subtext these weird elves would pick up on in her simplest sentences?  

“No no,” Prince Nelyafinwë shook his head in emphasis. He turned his gaze back to her. “It’s just that… it’s different. You’ve changed,” he tried to mend.

“Ah,” Rin didn’t sigh in relief, but it was a near thing. The same old story. “So does everyone say. I guess the concussion really did a number on me. I seem to scare everyone stiff whenever I open my mouth.” Her humor earned her a chuckle from the prince. Finishing up with her preparations now, she looked up at the ginger nér. “Did we know each other before, Prince Nelyafinwë?”

“No, I’m afraid,” he tilted his head to the side in contemplation. “I can barely remember our mothers trying to arrange a playdate when you first came here, but I had a very busy schedule back then, so it didn’t last very long,”

I suppose that makes sense, Rin thought to herself, it certainly isn’t easy to be a prince. Gotta learn lots of things at the same time.

Said prince exhaled softly before continuing, “And as far as I know, you preferred to stay at your mother’s estate most of the time. Back then, you were very shy. Or so everyone says,” he added the last part in slight humor, echoing her. That made her give out a chuckle of her own. 

Done with the preparations, Rin sighed and finally sat on a chair to await her lady’s arrival. She was rather pleased with herself. She had remembered where everything was, and what to put where. As they waited, the only sound aside from the chirping birds and rustling leaves outside was the sound of Prince Nelyafinwë’s charcoal pencil gliding across the paper of the sketchbook. It was a rather comfortable silence, one that allowed Rin to get lost in her thoughts.

Something about Eӓrien’s story was bothering her. Something didn’t add up. Not the chronology or the events themselves, but the way the nís had behaved according to the others. How she hadn’t wanted to interact with the residents of Valinor all that much, and how “aimless” she had been when she was living with them. Rin’s eyes widened slightly as a thought came to her mind.

Did Eӓrien even want to come to Valinor?

The young nís had been in Tol Eressëa when both of her parents died. A group of Teleri elves had decided to live there, including her parents. She was born on that island. It was her home. But surely Lady Nerdanel would have respected her wish to stay there if that had been the case, right? What had happened?

Perhaps she just wanted to run away, like I do now, Rin thought, her eyes, now half-lidded, were cast downward. And then regretted it afterwards.

“Rin,” Prince Nelyafinwë’s murmuring voice snapped her out of her mind with a start.

When she looked up with a “Hmm?”, though, she found the prince staring out the window with a contemplative look of his own. One knee propped up, it supported his elbow as he put his chin on his knuckles. The sketchbook and the pencil were lying on the windowsill. His tone and the way he looked out didn’t make it seem like he was calling for her. It was more like he was merely saying her name out loud.

Finally turning to her when he realized he had unknowingly called for her, he chuckled, “Apologies, I was just thinking how the name suits you, given the circumstances,” he canted his head with a small smile, “You’ve chosen well.”

Rin huffed with a humble smile on her face, “Yeah yeah. I know. It doesn’t mean anything. Works well with amnesia.”

The prince’s elegant, scarlet brows almost met in a frown, “Of course it has a meaning. Who told you it doesn’t?”

Momentarily stunned at being negated, she scrambled for words, “Uh… Prince Morifinwë…?” she hated how unsure she sounded, but she couldn’t have given a better reply at that moment.

The eldest son of Fëanáro gave out a little sigh of exasperation, a knowing expression donning his face. “That’s because he doesn’t know Early Quenya. Only Kano and I were interested enough to learn it. It isn’t used all that much nowadays, unfortunately.”

Rin’s eyes widened, “How come you wanted to learn it, then, if it isn’t widely used anymore?”

“King Finwë made it so that every noble elf working at the court must learn it,” the prince supplied, “Besides, I find languages rather fascinating,” He chuckled before continuing, “As for Kano, my guess is that he only wanted to learn it to make his songs sound more archaic and exotic by adding it to his lyrics.”

Rin couldn’t help but laugh a little. Yep, that’s a musician right there.

“I bet that worked,” she grinned.

“Like a charm,” he said. “So. Would you like to know what it means?” he asked, his question sobering her up.

“Yes, please,” she said hesitantly.

“It means ‘dew’,” he said gently. “And dew symbolizes youth, life, and –”

“Resurrection,” she mumbled quietly, momentarily forgetting where she was. But not quietly enough, apparently, for she looked up to see Prince Nelyafinwë staring at her with eyes slightly widened.

Well, Rin grumbled into her mind, I was a scholar of literature before I came into this world. She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. On my way to becoming one, at least. Some things and what they symbolize never change, I suppose. Judging by the way in which she found herself here, it really was a resurrection of some kind. Or the coming of a new life, for that matter. These interpretive thoughts brought a wave of emotions and unsettling questions to her mind. She had had her own goals and ambitions back in her world. What would happen to them if she failed to get back?      

“Sorry,” she said, laughing awkwardly to try to cover for the small slip-up while scratching her neck, “I guess now we know that Eӓrien was interested in literature and lore.”

It’s not that big of a deal, she tried to tell herself. That doesn’t indicate anything.

“A pleasant surprise indeed,” came Prince Nelyafinwë’s voice, now livelier than before. Literature was something he was clearly interested in. There was that flicker of the familiar spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. One that spoke of happiness upon finding another enthusiast.

If he learns that you can’t even read, this will be real awkward, Rin thought to herself, effectively driving out the warmth that had just begun to bloom in her chest. She still hadn’t found a way – or the time – to remedy this problem.

“Would it be alright if I called you ‘Rin’ as well?” asked Prince Nelyafinwë, his tone cautiously polite. As if he was asking her to give him something special to her. For a moment, she even wanted to tell him her real name.

Rin shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Of course, my Prince.” She wouldn’t deny the elf her nickname anyway, especially when said elf was the one who told her what it meant.

A soft, genuine smile appeared on the eldest son of Fëanáro. One that Rin would look forward to seeing again.

Feeling her face beginning to heat up once more, she opened her mouth but was suddenly interrupted by the energetic voice of House Fëanáro’s beloved matriarch when she stepped into the workshop and greeted them.

Trying to cover her little jump of startlement, Rin immediately turned around and took a few steps towards Lady Nerdanel, replying to her greeting with equal enthusiasm. It hadn’t escaped her notice how livelier the matriarch had become once her sons and husband joined in on her project. Her happiness was contagious, and it gave Rin the energy to run around for many errands. Until she was finally allowed to go back to her chambers to rest, that was. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light.

******

“Prince Morifinwë?” Rin asked without looking up from her needlework. This was the last day on which Lady Nerdanel and her firstborn son worked together on her project.  Prince Nelyafinwë would leave the next day for Tirion, and Lady Nerdanel would finish the rowan tree on her own. They were now planning her next steps, and had dismissed Rin so that she could take a day off to rest. And so it was that she had found herself in the office of Prince Morifinwë, since the poor nér was still working. What better way to pass the time than bothering a prince?

A huff of exasperation rose from the office seat beside her, “I told you, “Moryo” is fine when we’re not in a formal public event.” The sound of the feather pen scribbling on parchment had momentarily stopped.

A smile was beginning to form on Rin’s lips as she replied, “Sorry. Old habits. Also, for an elf of my position, it’s kind of weird to call a prince by his nickname of all things.”

Carnistir grumbled moodily, “Many people – myself included – call you ‘Rin’ now. It’s only fair that you call me ‘Moryo’ in turn.”

Rin couldn’t help but feel touched by the fourth prince’s gruff (but cute) attempt at making her see that she was his equal. Still, it was always fun to tease him. “Didn’t know you liked me that much, Moryo,” she said with a small smirk on her face, finally looking up from her knitting to meet his glare.

“Liking is a bit of an overstatement,” the prince grunted, turning his gaze back to his work. “I will start to like you when you decide to be less annoying.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Because that’s how I show affection.”

Carnistir gave out an exasperated sigh. He shook his head in disapproval, but a smirk was appearing on his lips that mirrored hers.

“You wished to ask something?” he asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Oh, that’s right!” Rin exclaimed, suddenly remembering why she had called for him in the first place. From the corner of her eye, she saw the prince rolling his eyes at her forgetfulness. Completely ignoring said action, she began, “I was just wondering if you could spare some time to teach me the Tengwar.” There. The grand reveal of her masterplan and the secret reason why she was here in the first place. Annoying the hell out of the prince was just a bonus. She wished she could break this to him in a smarter manner, but her current story would have to do.

A beat of silence. Then, Carnistir asked slowly, “Did you hit your head again or something?”

Rin had been expecting such a reaction, but that still didn’t make it less irritating. “No,” she huffed, letting go of her needlework on her lap. “I’m serious. I don’t know how to read your alphabet. Or write it, for that matter.”

“Are you genuinely telling me that you cannot read or write the language you are speaking right now?” he asked, his tone indicating he still hadn’t eliminated the possibility of her messing with him.

She could feel her eyebrow involuntarily twitching. “Yes, I believe that’s what I meant by asking you to teach me the alphabet,” she managed to grit out. She really wished there was a less straight-forward way to ask this. But she had to tell the truth when it came to this matter. There was no other way she could think of that would remedy this and help her adjust to this society. The language barrier wasn’t completely lifted, even though speech was not a problem.

The prince studied the ire on her face for a long while, eyes narrowed in suspicion. But in the end, he seemed satisfied with the sincerity of obvious annoyance on her face.

“If that’s really the case, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Carnistir asked at last.

A good question. “I was extremely disoriented in the first days after the concussion,” Rin said, calming down slightly. Now that the first hurdle of having him believe her and not judge her was done and over, questions such as this were easier to deal with. “And many things have happened consequently after I realized that I couldn’t read. Your father and brothers came back, and things have gotten very busy, as you well know,” she said, nodding her head towards his desk.  

The young prince exhaled tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you think this is a result of the concussion?”

Rin shrugged, “Can’t say. Maybe, or maybe not. It’s also possible that I didn’t know it before either.” She remembered the times when she could read when she threw only a cursory glance at short texts and labels, but they would lose their distinctiveness the moment she focused on them. She had to assume that this Eӓrien had known how to read and write in some shape or form. But she couldn’t rely on the knowledge of the elf whose body she was currently inhabiting. She had to start from scratch if she wanted to thoroughly understand the language, so telling people that she was completely illiterate would be the safe way to go.

However, admitting to something like this did cause a sting in her pride. She was a literary scholar, for God’s sake. The very thought of the fact that she couldn’t read was an affront to her and her education. She had to constantly remind herself that these conditions, while extremely unpleasant for her ego, were also… out of the ordinary, to say the least.

What followed next was a short tirade of mumbles and grumbles as the fourth son of Fëanáro went on under his breath about how the sea-elves were too easy-going and neglectful to not even teach her anything that isn’t directly related to the sea, or how any of the Noldor in the palace couldn’t notice such a simple thing and endeavor to remedy it. Rin crossed her arms in front of her chest and silently waited.

Finally, the prince said, “You do realize that Mother has to know about this, right?” Rin could detect a hint of worry in his voice. “We – ahem – she is still concerned for you.”

Rin smiled warmly, and canted her head in acceptance, “Of course. I will report to her tomorrow, don’t you worry. And see Winyavílë if she wants me to,” she graciously ignored the prince’s following mutter of “I wasn’t worried.”

“So?” she asked, letting down her arms and slapping her knees in anticipation. “Will you teach me?”

The poor prince looked at her, and then at the paperwork on his desk. “We don’t have to start right away,” Rin added quickly. “Whenever you’re available.”

After a beat of undecisive silence, the prince bowed his head in defeat, “Ugh, fine. Fine! We shall begin in two days.” He regarded her with narrowed eyes, “Consider this a repayment for volunteering to be my first knitting student.”

Rin’s eyes widened. Then, an unfiltered laughter of delight erupted from her chest. “Very well,” she managed to say through her cackles. “Have no fear though, Moryo. I’m far more confident in my skills of language-learning than those of knitting.”

“That does not make me feel any better.”

******

White. White everywhere.

Such were Rin’s thoughts as she and Vórilotsë walked through the busy streets of Tirion. Almost all of the buildings were made of marble, limestone, or granite. All in different shades of white, with various sizes. Rin couldn’t help but wonder if it would’ve hurt the eye had there been the Sun illuminating the world instead of the soft hue of the Trees.

And it wasn’t just the buildings. No. The trees that were tastefully sprinkled along the buildings were also white. The grandest of them all, though, was the one in the Great Square. Rin felt like she should know it from somewhere.

As the two nís slowly made their way around it, Vórilotsë noticed Rin staring at the tree inquisitively. “That’s Galathilion,” she supplied. “Lady Yavanna – may the Queen of the Earth bless our soil – has made it in the image of Telperion.”

Rin hummed in contemplation, immediately remembering the fact that Galathilion’s seeds would eventually go all the way to Gondor to become its White Tree. A touch of literal heaven in the city of mortal Men. To gain the favor of gods… how unfair it all was regardless of whether one’s mortal or immortal. 

“Men of the West,” she muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.

“Hmm?” Vórilotsë turned to her with a slightly puzzled expression.

Rin shook her head, “It’s nothing.” Much to her relief, the young chambermaid let it drop with a shrug, and turned forward as they entered one of the alleyways.

Unlike the city, though, its citizens were contrastingly colorful in their clothing. They were like paints that were thrown onto a completely white canvas. All were wearing rich and colorful fabrics that Rin was sure felt to the hand as smooth as they looked. Some folk wore sandals, and some leather boots of good quality. There were even those who walked barefoot. Now that was something Rin would be interested in trying out, albeit with a little trepidation. Given the smooth surface of the floor – which in some places twinkled as if there were diamonds mixed in sandstone – she assumed walking barefoot would not cause any blemishes.  

But what was even more astonishing was the fact that every single one of them wore jewelry excessively. To Rin’s unaccustomed eyes it was all excessive, at least. She wondered how many times she would have to walk among these people to get used to their sense of fashion. Silver and golden bracelets looped around their arms from wrists to biceps; rings on slender fingers crowned with rubies, emeralds, diamonds, opals, lapis lazuli, and many more. Sometimes the bracelets and rings were tied together on elegant, loose chains. They even wore their hair with jewelry, making their elaborate braids or free hair glow and delicately clink with their every movement. Once again, Rin wished she knew how to braid her hair in all those complicated patterns.

The way these people talked in pleasant murmurs made it so that their voice always remained a background noise that never got too loud. Even in a street where something akin to a bazaar was set up, the vendors never spoke aloud or tried to compete with each other to get the attention of potential customers. No need for commercials. Not in the sense that Rin knew, at least. The goods and the confidence of their sellers – if you happen to ask them about the goods – said all there was to say about their quality.

As they made their way through the stands, Vórilotsë had to pull Rin along on various occasions, since the only human in Valinor would stop at every table filled with curious trinkets, and start up a conversation with the seller like a child who keeps asking their parents what everything was. She even came across the prism that her chambermaid friend had mentioned – the light-catcher. Lady Nerdanel had given her a generous amount of pocket-money, and by God she was going to spend it. After all, she thought, how many times do we come into this world?

But human habits die hard, apparently – for she couldn’t bring herself to spend all of her coins. The prism was, of course, among those she purchased. Others consisted of a turquoise bracelet of carved stone, and a ring of a carved amber stone. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. She had also bought herself small pots of flowers and a rug to decorate her barren room at the palace. Vórilotsë was especially thrilled with picking different types of flowers, adding her insight concerning their nature and meanings. Rin was especially astonished when the young chambermaid began to list the ways in which each plant should be looked after at the speed of light. It was like opening an encyclopedia in audiobook format. The poor human had to sheepishly ask the enthusiastic elf whether she could explain it all later at a slower pace.  Vórilotsë was, thankfully, not discouraged in the least, accepting Rin’s request with gusto as she said, “You and your plants are in safe hands!” Rin chuckled at her enthusiasm.   

It was only when she saw that none of the elves around her wore any earrings or piercings – save for some clip-on ornaments that they had put around the shell of their ears – did she think of checking her own. Ignoring Vórilotsë’s stare that definitely screamed she was weirded out by her abnormal behavior, Rin turned towards a mirror put on a jewelry stand, her attempts at feeling for earring/piercing holes with her fingers having resulted in dissatisfaction. And indeed, her earlobes right and left both sported holes for earrings. She frowned at the discovery. Had Eӓrien worn earrings before? Maybe it was a Tol Eressëa thing, since she was from that island. If so, why not put them on?

Pursing her lips, she silently followed Vórilotsë around, accompanying her as she purchased new soaps and cleaning cloths for the maintaining of the palace chambers. The young chambermaid showed Rin all kinds of different soaps, holding each one of the up to her nose, urging her to smell them. “We have been using this one for a long time now. I asked Lady Nerdanel if we could change it, and she said we could. So we really need to think this through. What about this one?” she withdrew the soap the moment Rin caught its scent.  “No, the scent is too strong… What about this one? Too sweet… How about this? Subtle, but sweet – oh, that’s lavender, Rin! Brilliant. But it’s too common nowadays. We want something unique…”

It took them a while, but they finally managed to order six boxes of vanilla soap. Rin wasn’t sure if vanilla was unique, per se, but Vórilotsë was happy with her choice, so all was well. She wasn’t going to object and send the poor nís down into another spiral of picky-choosing, however sweet and entertaining the first one had been.

“Say, Lottie,” Rin began with an unsure voice. The young chambermaid turned to her with a curious hum. “Do Maiar ever come here? Or the Valar?” She had been looking around ever since they stepped foot outside the palace grounds, but she hadn’t been able to see anyone that looked different from elves.

“Of course they do! Usually to take care of personal businesses, like commissions, visits, or gathering fresh recruits who wanted to work under them.”

“I see,” Rin muttered quietly. Vórilotsë looked at her with a sad, knowing look in her eyes. After all, she had been there when an elf from the Gardens had come to examine Rin on the day of her concussion. They had refused to send for a Maia. She was aware of her friend’s hopes of encountering one during their visit to the city.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking Rin’s hand momentarily and giving it a tiny squeeze. “I didn’t see one today either. It’s curious, really. Usually there’s always at least a few Maiar around.” The other nís’ brows furrow at that, and she stopped in her tracks. Bowing her head in contemplation, Rin tried to sort through the implications of that statement.

Are they avoiding me on purpose?

But that was a silly thought, surely. Why would they even want to avoid her? Unless they had a hand in her being here against her will? Or know about it, at least?

Still. She had nothing. It would be overly presumptuous to just assume things like this. The world didn’t revolve around her, after all. Not everything had to be related to her. With an exasperated huff, she motioned for Vórilotsë to continue walking as she walked up beside her.

“I – I mean… the Valar stick to their own courts most of the time. And the Maiar… some of them like to walk among us donning elvish bodies. So even if we saw one today, we might not have noticed!” Vórilotsë tried to elaborate hurriedly, trying her best to cheer her up.  

“It’s alright, Lottie,” Rin reassured her, putting a smile on her face to ease the young chambermaid’s worries, “Maybe next time.” She looked ahead, “Besides, it’s not like every Maia works for Irmo and Estë.”

As they headed back to the House of Fëanáro, which stood a little to the outskirts of the city near a forest, Rin looked back again. Under the mingling silver and golden light, the shining crystal stairs that lead up to Mindon Eldaliéva were visible even from where the two elves stood. Its white tower surpassed all the others in the city in height, for it was practically the highest point of Túna. Its silver lamp gleamed like a lighthouse. A useless lighthouse, Rin thought despite the fact that she was impressed by the architecture. What would be the meaning of a beacon of light if it doesn’t lead or save people? If its light does not reach far from past Calacirya?

Rin suppressed a shiver. She remembered how Vórilotsë had told her that Mindon Eldaliéva was practically abandoned by the Vanyar and their king, Ingwë. Most of them had gone to abide by Manwë and Varda at the slopes of Taniquetil. The beauty of the tower was, in Rin’s opinion, a little marred by a sense of haunting. She wondered if she was the only one who felt this way. No one lived there. The lamp wasn’t lit by anyone. It just… kept on burning. Kept on living. An empty shell of past hopes and dreams at the heart of a city full of people who do not know death.

Ignoring the feeling of unease starting to gather at the pit of her stomach, Rin turned back around and joined Vórilotsë, who was waiting for her a few paces away. Gothic in Valinor… huh. Who knew? She tried to distract herself with thoughts such as this and tried to concentrate on the items she had purchased. She joked and laughed with Vórilotsë, never once turning back again to look at the haunting tower that stood high in the middle of Tirion.

******

With Prince Nelyafinwë gone back to the Court, Lady Nerdanel had eased up on the rush to do as much as they could before her sons, her main sources of help beside her husband, left. The eldest son of Fëanáro had bidden Rin farewell with a nod and a soft smile before she left the workshop yesterday, gifting her the sketch he had been working on the day they had had their first real chat. Rin’s eyes had widened at the sight of a bird flying among bushes as if it was jumping or diving into them.

“It’s a wren,” he had said. “For luck.”

With eyes as wide as saucers and a barely contained grin, she had muttered a thanks and bowed to the prince slightly before marching out of the workshop. She was sure her eyes had been smiling when they met his, for she knew, while wrens were common birds that didn’t possess shiny feathers or any extreme physical attributes (aside from being very, very cute), they were symbols of cleverness, and victory of cunningness over brute strength. She didn’t know if such meaning was the intention of Prince Nelyafinwë (different world, possibly different meanings), but she chose to see it that way. It quelled her anxieties revolving around blending in. When she had reached her chambers, she had put the drawing carefully into her table’s drawer, making a mental note to find something she could use to attach it to the wall.

Suddenly with an unexpected amount of free time in her hands, Rin decided to head to the garden. Her lessons with Carnistir were going to begin tomorrow, so she didn’t have to rush anywhere. And it wasn’t like she could read to pass the time. After her little visit to the garden to get used to her new elvish body, Rin came to rather like her little, secluded corner among the sycamore trees. Or better yet, maybe she could go deeper into the garden and explore. Its small, flowery meadows ended at the corner of a forest. She had only seen it from afar before. There was even a small shack at the edge. Maybe she could go there this time.

Her mood cheerful, she jogged down the garden path, listening to the chirps of birds while she herself was singing an English song with a low voice. She had realized shortly after her arrival that her knowledge of languages from her own world hadn’t gone away either. She just needed to strain her brain to deliberately speak them. It had been a little challenging at first, but she did manage to bring them back, both English and all the other languages she knew. She didn’t want to forget them – they were one of the few things that tied her to her own world, and served as a reminder that she indeed was not from here. Although, she did realize the danger of being heard by someone, so she only reserved these little songs and outward conversations with herself to moments when she was utterly alone.

She skipped out of the garden path and dived straight into the meadow, welcoming the scent of various types of flowers with open arms now. Their soft rustle soothed her spirit. When she finally reached the shack at the edge of the forest, she looked around. No one was nearby. “Hello?” she called for no one in particular. “Anyone in here?”

There was no answer. She slowly opened the wooden door as she announced, “Coming in.” The door creaked open, and Rin stepped through, curiously looking around.

The small, wooden shack was rather well-maintained. This told its newest visitor that people stopped by frequently.  There was another door opposite the one Rin had used. It was wide open, and through its frame, Rin could see the forest. The walls on either side were filled with hooks from which hung different sizes and styles of bows and various quivers filled with arrows. When she opened one of the three tall cupboards, she saw spears with gleaming blades, the metal of some sporting intricate patterns that carry the signs of good craftsmanship. The second cupboard revealed cloaks that were the color of the forest, with straps and belts accompanying them. Hunting gear, she guessed. The third cupboard contained old, rusty spears, broken or stringless bows and broken arrows with rusty tips.

Gingerly closing its door, she turned her attention to the weapons hanging from the walls. She studied each one of them curiously, and even went as far as gently taking an arrow from one of the quivers, studying its pristine edge and the shiny white feathers at its end. She wanted to probe the tip of the arrow with her finger, but she could swear she felt it prick her the moment the idea came to her head. Not trusting herself with such a sharp object, she slowly put it back into its quiver amongst its brethren the way she had found it.

Just as she did, though, she heard a low growl coming from the door that looked to the forest. Rin whipped her head around with a startled gasp, only to lock eyes with the largest hound she had ever seen. If she had still been holding the arrow, it would’ve clattered down to the floor. A pathetic little squeak escaped her lips when the giant dog stepped through the threshold and walked in. He was almost as large as the horses that the princes had been riding on the day of their arrival. Its light-grey fur was long and shaggy, reminding Rin of Irish wolfhounds.

A ginormous, over-grown hound that can rip my neck clean with one bite. As the hound slowly made his way towards her, baring its teeth just a little with a silent growl emanating from its chest, Rin took a step back involuntarily, unable to stop trembling. She knew it was pointless to back away and run. He would catch up immediately, even before Rin could leave the shack.

Certain that he could smell her fear, she forced herself to stand still as the hound came right in front of her. On all fours, he was as tall as her. His amber-orange eyes bore into her, and Rin could see the light of staggering intelligence behind them. The size aside, just the intensity of his eyes made it obvious that this was no ordinary dog.

Holding back a yelp by biting her lips, she stood as still as she could as the hound’s big, black snout traveled around her head and neck, then down to her arms and hands. She slowly opened her empty palms, but didn’t lift them up for fear of losing her hands. Her long, black hair did little flights as puffs of air escaped the snout. Every time that happened, Rin couldn’t help but jump a little with a startlement. As the nose came back up to her head, nudging her cheek and making her head turn slightly to the side, a thought came to her mind that made the blood freeze in her veins.

What if the hound knows? What if he can smell that I’m not –

Another growl emanated from the dog as if confirming her suspicions. The teeth were bared again, dangerously close to her neck. Rin could almost hear his thoughts. No, she was hearing his thoughts. And she wasn’t the one who had initiated the mental connection. No words, but sensations that weren’t really hers flooded the surface of her own thoughts. For a moment, she smelled her strange scent through his nose, and the image of a scenario where the giant hound was tearing at her neck flashed in front of her eyes. The implications were clear as day.

Fëa smells weird.

Foreign.

Eliminate?  

“I’m just as confused as you are,” she whispered through shaky breaths. She lifted her head a little to make eye contact. It was the truth. It was useless to try and hide it. Not from this beast. The overwhelming sense of terror and loneliness filling her chest, she could feel tears beginning to sting the back of her eyes as she croaked, “I want to go home.” She prayed that he understood. For a long moment, they just stared at each other; grey eyes against amber ones.

Something in her fearful and sad gaze must have affected the hound, for he stopped growling and let his lips cover his fangs. His floppy ears drooped further as he let out a confused whine. He brought his muzzle back to her face to smell her again, but this time, Rin was shocked to feel something warm and wet on her cheek. She couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle as the dog licked her face. She wasn’t completely relaxed yet, but she felt like the immediate danger had passed. And finally, when she let out a sigh of relief after the intense ordeal, she felt the tears that had been threatening to spill moments before finally breaking free. Before they could go far, though, the dog tickled them away.

That was when she realized that this hound must be none other than Huan. Now that she was out of survival-mode and wasn’t worried about a horrible, imminent death, she could start to think again, and recognize. She still didn’t make a move to pet the dog, forcing herself to resist the human urge to pet every creature they crossed paths with. The mental image of a future Sauron trapped in the hound’s jaws made her stomach churn a little. The same could’ve happened to her moments ago.

But she was neither Sauron, nor another Maia. She was just Rin. And Huan seemed convinced that she was, indeed, just Rin. With a startlingly loud bark that managed to echo even in the small, wooden shack, he circled her with a wagging tale. It was almost as if he was trying to make up for the way he scared her moments ago by acting cute. Rin let out a smile in-between sniffs, trying to wipe the dog-saliva off her face.

Suddenly, a loud whistle came from the door through which Huan had gotten in. The giant hound immediately stepped back towards the source of the voice with an obedient attitude, letting out a happy bark. When Rin looked up, she noticed Prince Turcafinwë leaning against the doorframe, watching the exchange with a curious glint in his eyes and an unreadable expression on his face. Rin suspected he had been watching the entire exchange from the back. If Huan had decided to attack, would he have just let it happen?  

She wiped her hands on her skirt and sighed. Let’s not assume the worst of people, hmm? “Sorry,” she said. “I was a bit startled. Didn’t see him at the entrance ten days ago.”

“He usually prefers to go straight through the forest and garden first. To refamiliarize with the palace and smell like home again,” said Prince Turcafinwë with a calm, if not slightly cold voice. Rin supposed that made sense. She had seen dogs rubbing their furs and rolling on earth when they got home from long trips. It also explained the mysterious patches of mud she had seen on the palace floor on the day of their arrival. The dog must have greeted the family after his visit to the garden and forest. And Rin had neither seen him nor prince Turcafinwë until today. She had caught glimpses of Curufin when she went back and forth between workshops to carry materials. The Ambarussa had been busy with their studies, Lady Nerdanel had told her once when she had asked about them. Not to mention that ever since their arrival, she had been eating all of her meals with Vórilotsë. She was more than happy to not join those family dinners. She didn’t think her heart would’ve survived.

The third son of Fëanáro straightened from the doorframe, walking towards Rin. He wasn’t as tall as Prince Nelyafinwë, but maybe a little burlier. Carnistir was definitely a little shorter, though. “Strange,” he murmured, inspecting her up and down carefully. “I’ve never seen him do that to anyone. Not even when he meets them the first time.”

Nothing came to Rin’s mind to say to that, so she stayed silent. The hound was circling them both now. He bumped into the cupboards and the empty table that stood nearby. It was only a matter of time that something fell. Rin wasn’t sure if she should keep her eyes on the dog or the elf that was standing in front of her. The dog’s happy but erratic movements stole her attention when something in her told her to be wary of his master instead. “Huan,” called the prince and his gestured head towards the door, half-suggesting half-commanding. With a bark, the hound bolted through the door into the forest, disappearing into the trees. Rin was sure that he was still nearby.

Prince Turcafinwë turned away from her as if she no longer interested him. Instead, he stepped towards the bows and arrows hanging from the walls. “Tell me, Eӓrien. Is stealing a common practice on that island of yours?”

Rin frowned. Stealing? Really? And she didn’t even have to be from Tol Eressëa to immediately dislike the way he talked about the island that the real Eӓrien’s kin were from. She sighed and straightened her expression. “I wasn’t stealing,” she said in a calm, quiet voice. “You can check the walls and the cupboards if you wish.”

“What brings you here, then?” he asked, tilting his head a little as half-a-smirk appeared on his face. “Came to learn how to hunt after becoming a talented sculptor?”

She knew that mocking expression. She was familiar with it. She had suffered from it all throughout her previous life occasionally. It almost looked benevolent on that beautiful face of his. Barely there. In fact, she almost missed it, and could’ve easily taken it as a genuine inquiry. The reaction was almost automatic. Her face went blank, and despite the growing pit in her stomach, she managed to look calm. She did not rise to the bait.

“No,” she said, bringing her gaze up to meet his. “I was just exploring.”

He raised his brows a little, unimpressed. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you wish, my prince,” Rin said, shrugging nonchalantly. “If you know that I am Lady Nerdanel’s apprentice, then you also know that I’ve had a concussion recently. My memories are absent, so I am rediscovering the palace and its grounds.”

“Ah, yes, the little accident,” he said. He didn’t look like he believed it one bit. “And that gives you the right to snoop around and scuttle like a little mouse?” His silver eyes watched for any signs of distress.

 Do not lose it, and do not let him intimidate you, Rin had to tell herself. That’s what the likes of him want. It was like a predator waiting for its prey to start running. Only then would they pounce.

“I didn’t think a shack at the edge of a forest with doors wide open was a restricted area,” she said dryly. And that was true. No one at the palace had told her anything about places she couldn’t go – except for the princes’ quarters, of course. She could even visit other workshops if she so wished.

“This area is indeed only for the usage of the princes who wish to hunt,” said Prince Turcafinwë, raising his chin a little, gauging her reaction. His expression screamed “It is restricted for you.”   

Gosh, how childish. Rin gave out a sigh of boredom. Bowing slightly, she said, “Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking my leave.” She didn’t need this.

“You’re not excused,” rang his smooth voice. “You still didn’t tell me the real reason why you were sneaking around.”

Rin let out a little huff of exasperation. “I wasn’t sneaking around, for I have nothing to hide,” she said dryly. Looking up at him dully, she added, “If anything, it is you who seem to hide something here, my prince, since you insist to be suspicious of me coming here, calling me a ‘little mouse’ and using my homeland like a slur in your little interrogation.” She smiled. “Have no fear, though, for I have seen nothing. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have told it to anyone if that had been your wish.”

The look of absolute outrage on the prince’s face told her that she indeed managed to turn the table around and get under his skin a little. “Such insolence. There is no ‘it’,” he said through gritted teeth. Then, he smirked. “You’re bolder than I thought.” He stepped to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. This time, Rin could feel its weight. She suppressed a shiver. “But you and I both know that there is something off about you. I felt it when I first saw you, and judging by the way Huan acted, I was right.” She felt the hold of his fingers tighten on her shoulder ever so slightly. “Know your place, and do not come any closer.”

“Do not come any closer to my family,” she translated in her mind. Well, she grumbled inwardly, if he’s worried about Moryo and Lady Nerdanel, or even Prince Nelyafinwë, then he’s got a very funny way of showing it.

Rin didn’t answer him right away. Instead, she reached up and yanked his hand off her shoulder, and said as calmly as possible, “Huan let me go. If you trust your hound’s judgement so much, then maybe you should do the same.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned around and exited the shack. A little surprised but also relieved that she wasn’t stopped again, she walked through the meadow without looking back once. The smell of flowers didn’t reach her this time. Using every ounce of self-control to not hurry her steps or break into a run, she managed to get herself back onto the garden path. Her nerves finally giving away, she took deep, shaky breaths. She was determined not to cry over this. The fact that she was more furious than sad also helped to suppress her tears. Finally, she opted to just ball her hands into fists, knuckles turning white. I didn’t ask to be here, she growled internally. I didn’t want to be here. So how dare he make assumptions about me? She didn’t even realize that she had reached her chambers. Nor the uneasy looks she had gotten from the servants along the way. She stopped her musings only after she closed her door with a loud bang.

The silence of the room was deafening. The sense of loneliness that she had felt back at the shack returned, having followed her like a vengeful spirit. It was sapping away from her fighting spirit, a constant reminder that she was not like the others, and even if she blended in, it would not change the fact that she was literally an outsider. And the worst part was that she couldn’t tell this to anyone. Not yet, at least.

A sad smile appeared on her face as she thought, Is this what you’ve felt before as well, Eӓrien?

Chapter Text

“A-Are you sure I need all of these?” Rin asked as she tried to balance the stack of books in her arms.

They continued to multiply by the second as Carnistir put one atop the other. “Of course you do. Learning the Tengwar was just the first step. We have to go over your grammar as well.” He motioned for the young nís to follow him into the next section within the castle library. “And don’t even get me started on your handwriting.”

Rin huffed, trying to keep up with him, “Yes yes, I need to practice.” Learning the Tengwar had proven to be easier than she had feared. Both she and her teacher were pleasantly surprised.

“Well, what do you know?” Carnistir had said, obviously impressed, “You were right when you said you were better at this than you were at knitting.” She had cracked the alphabet after two lessons.

The fact that she had used the Latin alphabet and her knowledge of various languages to help her remember the sounds that matched the symbols after every lesson had helped, as well. But it wasn’t like her teacher knew that. That had been something she had done after the lessons, in her chambers.

The hard part was to get used to writing it and learn the rules of the language. Those were what they were trying to work on right now. Carnistir led her to one of the tables next to a window that looked to the palace entrance. Tirion was visible in the distance as well. They put the books down with a loud thud, and only then did Rin have the chance to inspect their covers. Most were about grammar and punctuation rules, but what interested her was the fact that all of them were written by the same elf: the one and only Fëanáro.

“Are these all written by your father?” she asked incredulously. She knew he was a linguist, among other things, but seeing this with her own (well, Eӓrien’s) eyes certainly added weight to her knowledge from Tolkien’s books about the craftiest elf in all of Arda.

The fourth prince nodded with a proud expression on his face. “That’s right. These are the textbooks that Father has prepared after establishing the new writing system. He wrote these so that everyone can learn. Now people use them to teach their elflings.”

A soft smile appeared on Rin’s face as she gently took one of the books. Knowledge of purest kind is best when it’s shared. “Did you and the other princes use these as well?”

He nodded, taking a seat and bidding Rin to sit opposite him with a gesture of his hand. Opening the book and skimming over its pages, she took her seat. Taking another book from the stack, Carnistir opened a page and laid it in front of her. “Now, read these two pages out loud.”

Letting go of her own book, Rin nodded determinedly and began her slow work of reading the text. She might have cracked the alphabet, but she was still excruciatingly slow at reading it. Carnistir was patient though. He never rushed her or commented on her speed, only getting involved to gently correct her when she mispronounced complicated words.

He did get annoyed when Rin mispronounced a letter or a word several times over, though. That usually happened when Rin got distracted and let her mind wander to somewhere else. Her intonation would give her away as well, an indication that told the prince that Rin wasn’t understanding what she was reading anymore. At those times, a light flick to her forehead by the prince was enough to bring her attention back to the task at hand, followed by a rub on the sore spot and a “Ow! That hurt!”, which would be rebuked immediately by “Then focus!”.

“I now wish I hadn’t shown you that move,” Rin grumbled under her breath when Carnistir flicked her forehead in real time.

Her teacher raised an unimpressed brow, and said dryly “Thank you for this weapon. As you can see, I use it wisely.”

Indeed, it had been her who had first done this to him, which had left the poor prince bewildered for the ensuing few minutes. He hadn’t been listening when she had asked him a rather important question about vowels, immersed in his finances. When repeating the question earned her a half-hearted “Yes,” but nothing else, she had flicked his forehead without thinking. At one point, she had been scared that she had broken him. Thankfully, she had managed to cover this obviously human action with it being a “Tol Eressëa thing”.

With a sigh and an eyeroll, Rin turned her attention back onto the page. Once she was finished, though, she managed to ask the question that had been the cause of the forehead flick. “Say, Moryo,” she began as Carnistir opened her notebook and checked her handwriting from a previous homework with a critical eye. “Is it possible for elves to approach to the Ainur and talk to them? Like, do you just walk up to them and start up a conversation? Or write them a letter to ask for an audience?”

A frown of confusion appearing on his face, Carnistir lifted his gaze to meet hers. “It depends on who you want to talk to. Why do you ask? Is something wrong?”

“No no,” Rin denied immediately, shaking her head. “It’s just… something I’ve been curious about. I’m not from Valinor, you know. And my memories are gone. So I don’t really know how things work here. We live in the same place as the Ainur, and that alone is astonishing to me.” The debate on whether a people even should be this close to their gods was at the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t say anything about it.

Carnistir looked convinced, though, nodding understandingly. With a hum, he brought a hand to his chin as he contemplated her question before answering. “It’s rather easy to come across the Maiar. Not all of them, but those with lower rank. Quite a few of them love living among the Eldar.”

“Do they live in Tirion too?” Rin couldn’t help but ask, remembering her first visit to the city.

The prince nodded, “Yes, especially those who serve Lord Aulë and Lord Námo.” He curiously observed the nís sitting opposite him as she slightly bowed her head with a sad but also contemplative “Oh”.  

“As for the Valar themselves,” he continued, “Most of them live in Valimar or nearby. Unless you’re looking for Lord Námo, Lord Ulmo, or Lady Nienna. But then again, each Vala in Valimar have their own domains outside of it, so they’re not always there…” Rin didn’t have to be from Middle Earth or from Valinor specifically to know that the Halls of Mandos were the abode of Námo, which stood isolated at the northwest of Valinor, right at the edge of the continent (and the world). And his sister, Nienna, had her own Halls at the edge as well. As for Ulmo, he wasn’t even here. The Vala of the Seas preferred the Eastern side of the pond; a choice Rin had always admired him for even before coming into this world. But more importantly…

“Valimar?” Rin’s eyes widened with hope and excitement. “That’s where the Two Trees are as well, right?”

Carnistir nodded, a little smile forming on his face when he saw the positive shift in her mood, “That’s right. Telperion and Laurelin are near the city, on the mound of Ezellohar. It’s a popular sight for pilgrimages and festivals, for the Ainur and the Eldar alike.”

Rin almost interrupted him as she leaned in and asked yet another question, “So can one just go there and walk up to the Valar there?”

A little taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm, her teacher exclaimed, “Wha- No! I mean, not really. Not unless you’re directly from the royal bloodline, studying under the Valar or serving them directly,” he folded his arms across his chest, “Even those from noble houses write letters to ask for an audience with them first. As I said, they’re not always there.”

“O-oh…” her excitement depleting a little, she leaned back on her seat again.

After a short beat of silence, Carnistir carefully asked, “Is there a reason behind these questions? You seem to want to do more than just learn about the Ainur.”

Well, shit. I was too obvious. “I… I have questions regarding my memories and my homeland,” when she saw that the prince was still looking at her expectantly for an explanation, she scrambled her mind for one. Unable to find one on the spot, she just said lamely, “I-it’s kind of personal.”

“I see… Apologies,” Carnistir cleared his throat, a blush of embarrassment creeping up on his cheeks. He became a little shy now at the prospect of prying too much.

“It’s alright. I just wish I could arrange a meeting with one of the Ainur,” Rin mumbled, feeling quite frustrated. That was probably her only ticket out of this world. From the corner of her eye, she could see the fourth prince frown with worry at her conundrum, his mouth a thin, serious line.

Then, he let out a sigh, “Cheer up. You might yet gain an audience with them if you write a petition. You don’t have to be a noble to do that.”

“Really?!” she perked up again.

Carnistir rolled his eyes at the way her mood changed at the speed of light, “Yes, you can. And yes, they do answer the petitions.” A smirk slowly appearing on his face, he leaned in, “But to do that, you’ll need to master writing. So,” he pointed to the book opened between them, and the notebook where she would copy each line of a paragraph ten times for the next hour, “I’d get back to work if I were you. Then, we will begin with the grammar.” 

Rin mock-whined in protest, but her posture had straightened, and energy seemed to have returned to her body, “And you? Are you just going to sit there while I write?”

“Of course not,” he said, then pointed at the stacks of parchments and account ledgers that he had brought and dumped onto the table when they first came into the library that day. “I’ll do my own work in the meantime.”

“You’re all way too productive in this house it’s sickening,” Rin grumbled in fond exasperation, dropping her gaze down onto the notebook into which she had already begun writing.

“Hah!” the prince snorted at her sarcastic remark, “Maybe you’re just too lazy.”

“It’s called ‘The Art of Doing Nothing’, I’ll have you know, and it’s very serious business!” Rin exclaimed indignantly.

“Sounds like something the Falmari would say,” he said dryly. Rin, of course, hadn’t seen a single Teleri elf in her short, human life. Although this was clearly a jab to them, she couldn’t help but take it as a jab to the Secondborn.

Continuing to scribble down her second paragraph, she countered, “Hmm. Maybe the overachieving Noldor can learn from them.”

“The Art of Doing Nothing will not make me a Weaver,” Carnistir grunted, rolling his eyes. He too began to write down into his ledger.

Rin frowned in confusion, “Aren’t you already a weaver?”

He sighed in frustration, “No, not yet. I can weave, yes, but I’m not a Weaver yet. Weavers are a small portion of elves who also get to work alongside Vairë at the Tapestry of Time. They are a very, very selected few, because she usually recruits Maiar.”

Rin hummed in contemplation. Vairë, wife of Mandos. The Weaver of Time itself. Chronicles the happenings on Middle Earth into a giant tapestry. Rin’s eyes widen in realization, “Wait, don’t tell me that these… Weavers have the ability to see the future?” It would make sense why they were only a selected few. “And your grandmother? Was she among them?”

Carnistir nodded solemnly, his eyes now looking out the window longingly, hoping to finally receive the gift of foresight that will distinguish him among his brothers, and make his House proud by continuing Míriel’s legacy.

“Yes,” he replied. “The Weavers can see far across Time. And not just the future either. But the past and the present, too,” he shrugged, “It’s not always reliable, of course. But it’s a rare ability among the Eldar. I just… I just hope I manage to awaken it within myself. If I have it, that is.”  

The last part came out in such a dejected tone that Rin’s heart ached at the way this young elf was placing such hard expectations on himself over something he couldn’t possibly control. From what she could gather, this was an innate ability. You were either born with it, or not. Becoming a Weaver meant that they managed to cultivate this innate ability to its fullest capacity. And given Carnistir’s obvious skill at weaving, his family (and maybe even the rest of the Noldor) must’ve thought that he had inherited the foresight aspect of it from his grandmother also.

There was a lot to unpack there, and Rin at that moment fumbled for something to say. Something right. But nothing came to her mind except for a lame, “Give it time. Maybe it will come to you later.”

Carnistir chuckled derisively, turning his eyes back onto his ledger. “Unlikely. My Grandmother could always see snippets of the Weave, they say. My half-cousin Findaráto,” he almost spat out the name, “showed the signs of the gift at an early age.” A bark of humorless laughter, “He wasn’t even fifty years old when it happened.”

His voice was sharp with envy, and his face was distorted into an expression of distaste. Rin understood the feeling. She knew that Carnistir was working hard towards this high ideal. And to see your “half-cousin” showing innate skill at something he worked his butt off for… It was the classic battle between talent and hard work. Rin suspected there was also a sense of shame involved at the prospect of someone from the House of Arafinwë, who isn’t even of Míriel’s line (which was yet another touchy subject), surpassing him on this subject without even committing to it. She could only hope that the rest of his family was treating him better than he did himself on this matter. Especially his father. But this wasn’t something she could blatantly ask.

I guess there are even more layers to the infamous rivalry between the Houses of Finwë, Rin thought grimly.

“Will he become a Weaver?” Rin asked tentatively, even though from what she remembered in the books, she knew he wouldn’t. She was also internally trying to grapple with the possibility of Eӓrien being older than the Finrod Felagund. She silently pinched herself to snap out of her little reverie.

“Who knows?” Carnistir shrugged, trying to act as if he didn’t care all that much. “He’s still young. He weaves, and he even trains under tutors who are Weavers. Though the young prodigy says he isn’t really interested in becoming one.” Even though his tone was mocking, the disappointment was palpable in that slight crack in his voice. She understood then how much he wanted this gift to awaken in him.

“Moryo,” Rin interjected, her tone soft, “you can’t control these things. And just because your grandmother had it, does not mean that you’re entitled to it.” She tilted her head, “You certainly don’t need this weird ability to become an accomplished prince. You’re still special just because you’re you.” She smiled in a cheerful manner, “Besides, judging by the trophies in your office, you are one of the best weavers out there. I vote for ‘art for art’s sake’ in this case!”

Recognizing her attempts at cheering him up, Carnistir let out a breathy laughter, “Let me guess; just have fun in your craft?” he was referring to their chat as he had shown her around the palace. He scoffed, but there was an unmistakable smirk on his face that neared to fondness, “I see now how dangerous Falmari philosophy can be. It lulls you into passivity.”

Rin couldn’t help but roll her eyes in feigned annoyance, “Maybe they know something you don’t. Sometimes it’s better to just enjoy the ride and see where it takes you.” Carnistir sighed in fond exasperation and grumbled a reply Rin was too distracted to hear.

She looked at the young elf in front of her, knowing when and where he would die in the distant future. For a moment, she forgot that she was in a “dream-world” and took the elf opposite her as a real person. It was scary how easy that notion came to her. The one that said Carnistir was a real person of flesh and blood, with his very own personality and all the insecurities that came with it. For a moment, he and the world around her seemed all too real to her. It was no longer something she could simply analyze while reading books, in the safety of her house or at her university, attending one of her courses.

Along with the existential dread came the crushing realization that she knew how this person – this elf she seemed to have befriended – was going to die. She knew her friend’s, and every single one of his brothers’ demises. The weight of that knowledge suddenly made itself known to her in her heart. It was like a sickness. One that would never go away, now that she was aware of it. A crushing sense of responsibility almost stole her breath away; for what was she to do with this knowledge? Was it even wise to attempt to alter things, even if she could? And if it wasn’t, could she really do nothing when her friend eventually rode to his death? Or was it completely meaningless to even think about such things, given that she didn’t belong here, and was planning on going back anyways?

She remembered a quote from Tad Willaims’ Memory, Sorrow and Thorn saga. A saying among his fictional Qanuc-folk, given at the very beginning of the first book. “He who is certain he knows the ending of things when he is only beginning them is either extremely wise or extremely foolish; no matter which is true, he is certainly an unhappy man, for he has put knife in the heart of wonder.”

Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea, not becoming a Weaver, Rin couldn’t help but think, miserable. It’s possible that Finrod knew that as well. It certainly isn’t something everyone can or would want to handle. She wasn’t sure she could handle it without the hope and possibility of getting out of this place. Her eyes widened slightly as a thought came into her mind. Maybe this has something to do with Míriel’s choice to die as well. Maybe she was plagued with some foreknowledge back when she gave birth to Fëanor. Rin certainly wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe the former High Queen of the House of Finwë was sick too, in a way.

She sighed and turned to Carnistir with a sad smile on her face. Carnistir should really consider himself lucky. He had begun to enthusiastically ramble about the method in which the Weave was made with magical strands. Without a word, she slowly raised her hand and flicked the still unsuspecting prince on the forehead. As a response to his indignant “What was that for?!”, she only said dryly, “Those who look far beyond tend to overlook what’s right in front of them.”

******

Rin discovered that sleeping was, to elves, akin to what taking a shower is like for humans. Or eating a snack. It could happen at any time of day, sometimes even while doing simple chores. After all, there was no concept of “night” here. No specific periods of time where the lights were all out and everyone was asleep. Once, Rin witnessed in horror and a sense of injustice (because let’s face it, this is extremely overpowered) Vórilotsë’s eyes creepily zoning out while she was sweeping the floor. Her usually cheerful expression turned blank, her eyes staring at nothing in particular even though they were half-open as she continued to do mundane tasks. Another time, she saw Lady Nerdanel taking a brief break inside her workshop. The matriarch casually sat down onto the divan by the window, and simply stared at the wall opposite her, as still as her statues. After sitting in this manner for what Rin assumed a good ten minutes, she blinked herself awake, and was as energized as ever. If she wasn’t overly conscious of where she was and whose company she was in, Rin would’ve thrown hands.

Aside from yet another confirmation that she was truly in the midst of a different race, this discovery caused her curiosity regarding her current body to spark. Could she do what they did? Ever since she came here, she had been sleeping like she always did. Eyes fully closed, she slept longer and deeper than others to feel fully rested. It wasn’t her body that got tired often, per se. It was mostly her mind. She had been doing her best to keep up with her elven peers, which meant that she had to do a lot of learning, memorizing, and picking up on social queues. In a way, she had to learn how to be an Eldar from scratch. Not to mention the stress from constantly trying not to blow her cover in the ever-watchful eyes of others like Lady Nerdanel. She was trying to learn everything all at once. Thankfully, they had taken her enthusiasm (desperation) to adapt to the palace quite well, despite their initial worries.

Just like the time in the palace garden, Rin resolved herself to discover the limits of this new body of hers. Although her sleeps had lasted longer within the first thirty days of coming here, the very fact that there was no such thing as night or dark had shortened her naps considerably. This didn’t always work for her benefit, though. Her mind was used to going to sleep at night for several hours. In this perpetual light of Valinor, however, it was getting harder and harder to stay asleep. It was deeply disturbing and extremely frustrating on her psyche to see the light before going to sleep and after waking up, making her question whether she had rested at all since the hours spent with sleep got shorter and shorter. This realization, coupled with the feeling of disorientation and dissonance with her own body and the outside world made her grumpy on more than one occasion, causing her to snap at poor Vórilotsë and even Lady Nerdanel. Rin supposed this was similar to living near the North or South Pole in her own world, where the Sun didn’t leave for almost half a year. Minus the cold, of course. Some things were appreciated once they were no longer available. She had always taken night and day for granted back in her world.

Despite her insistence on keeping up with her usual manner of sleeping instead of trying to go into a trance like everyone else (she still found that way too freaky), Rin did use her not-easily-tired elvish body to her advantage. She pulled many “all-nighters” back to back, using the majority of her extra time to study Quenya, doing simple errands to get familiar with the palace and its inhabitants, and bother Carnistir for knitting lessons when she felt like it. She still continued her apprenticeship with Lady Nerdanel, even though it was getting more and more obvious that she didn’t possess the artistic gift of sculpting. Rin was more than happy to silently assist the matriarch with her work whenever she needed it. It had become a part of her routine, which was the kind of stability that she had unconsciously been looking for in this strange, foreign world. She also wanted to earn her stay somehow, despite there being no such implications from neither the Lady nor the Lord of the house. For as long as she stayed there, she wanted to be of use. Since she was still learning Quenya, she couldn’t claim to be a literary scholar or a loremaster. She hadn’t specialized in any type of craft either. As for becoming a musician, she had played the piano back in her world, but no such thing existed here. Although, she was beginning to consider learning how to play the lute. But who would even be willing to teach her? Prince Kanafinwë would surely not waste his time to teach an amateur. Besides, as the second eldest son of Fëanáro, he must be extremely busy anyway.

 Rin had to constantly remind herself that she was not here to stay. That there really was no point trying to make plans for the future. A future that belonged to the real Eӓrien. She would help out the servants and Lady Nerdanel until she found a way to talk to one of the Valar. She was fine with staying in survival mode until then. Learn everything she needed to thoroughly until she didn’t have to. Worst-case scenario, she would have to learn Quenya well enough to write a petition to them. She was planning on sending the same letter to every Valar she could. Manwë was her main target, though, for she knew as the King of freakin’ Arda, he had to know something about her. Or even better, he could send her back.

Such sentiments became even more prominent at times when she wasn’t the only one who reminded her that she didn’t belong. After their little encounter in the shack at the edge of the forest, Prince Turcafinwë took a sudden interest in visiting his mother in her workshop almost every day. He never uttered a word to Rin, or did anything that would intimidate or provoke her. In fact, he seemingly ignored her entirely, not even greeting her when he entered the workshop with Huan and settled onto the divan by the window. He would only talk to his mother in a leisurely manner, his tone light and carefree. But Rin could feel his eyes on her occasionally, watching her every move and listening to her every sentence as she moved around to do her errands. She felt like he was waiting for her to make some kind of a mistake. A slip-up. Honestly, what does he expect to find? Some kind of a proof that I’m an evil being out to get his family or something? To anyone looking at the situation from the outside, it looked like she wasn’t under any kind of scrutiny or surveillance at all. He didn’t so much as look in her direction most of the time. But their small talk in the shack and these sudden visits were enough proof that he was looking without looking. Knowing what he was doing, Rin did her best to remain calm and ignore him in turn, focusing on her tasks with fervor. Besides, he could never stay for too long, for Huan would become restless, wanting to go outside and run freely instead of being stuck in a room where he could accidentally knock down well-sculpted statues. All Rin had to do was to patiently wait for them to leave, silently thanking Huan in her mind every time he barked and wagged his tail, demanding to be let out. She wasn’t sure if the hound picked up on her gratitude, but she was happy with the outcome regardless. Even though nothing happened, it was stressful to hide distress.

Lady Nerdanel, although she didn’t know about their previous interaction, did sense that something was off, hence her endeavor to not leave them alone in the workshop for too long and her ever watchful gaze, almost daring her son to make a scene. Whether the son and mother ever talked about her among themselves, Rin didn’t know. What she did know was that Prince Turcafinwë visiting his mother in her workshop this often was a novelty that even the matriarch herself found strange. The situation didn’t escalate into an unpleasant event despite the tension in the air, though. Huh, Rin thought on more than once occasion, so he can be political when he wants to be.

He was even more discreet with Carnistir. He didn’t grace them with his presence when Rin and Carnistir spent time together – either to knit or to study Quenya – knowing full well how moody the fourth son of Fëanáro could be. The two didn’t get along all that much from what she could tell, so the hunter was probably resorting to second-hand information from his brothers, servants, or his mother. She once witnessed Carnistir walking away from the hunter with eyes alight with silent fury, face flushed with anger. The next time they met up to knit, Rin noticed his hands clutching the needles a little too tightly, his movements rather stiff and his mind elsewhere. When she asked if something was bothering him, he looked at her with an evaluating gaze that made her furrow her brows in confusion and a little bit of hurt. She didn’t know what she did to earn such an expression, but she didn’t avert her eyes. After a few seconds, though, Carnistir sighed and looked away. His expression softened, and his behavior turned to normal. Only then did Rin consider the possibility of the third prince talking to his younger brother about her. Perhaps he had tried to warn Carnistir against her. She could only hope that this didn’t affect their budding friendship too much.

So, to say that she was pleased to find out from Lady Nerdanel that Prince Turcafinwë and Prince Curufinwë left the palace one day to go to the latter’s own estate would be a severe understatement. She was relieved, more than anything. Her mood got significantly better too, now that she could move around freely, without any scrutiny.

It was also because of the relief that she felt mentally and physically exhausted now, sitting in the library trying to write down some homework that Carnistir had given her for the next day.  She had scrunched up her nose at the prospect of having to do homework like she was a schoolgirl again, even in a different world than her own. But Carnistir would have none of it, saying that she still had a long way to go if she wanted to be fluent in reading and writing. She was supposed to write one paragraph explaining how her day went, and one paragraph that summarized something she had read. The first had to come from herself. For the second, she had scoured through the palace library to find something like a short fairy tale to read and summarize. She had found an interesting book called “Tales of the Great Journey”, and was trying her hardest to read. She was still slow, and she had to spell out every word, every syllable out loud. She also made an excruciating effort to take notes using Tengwar, and not the Latin alphabet. Having gone at one of the farthest corners from the library door, she piled up grammar books, “Tales of the Great Journey” and her own notes on a table, and sat by the window that overlooked the palace garden.

The tale that she wanted to work on was called “The Elfling, The Swallow, and The Devouring Willow”. It could be read as a cautionary tale, Rin supposed, but she also wondered whether the willow in question was in any way related to the sinister Old Man Willow from the Third Age who intended to trap – and quite possibly, to eat – the hobbits. There were also tales about a certain Black Rider, but she wanted to look at them while she was not pressured by the concept of a homework. She knew who the rider in question was, and she wanted to pay extra close attention to those tales once she got more efficient and fluent with Quenya. It was stressful enough to think that she had to offer what she wrote to Carnistir, a son of Fëanáro, for him to read and correct her mistakes. She tried not to think too much about it, because the more she thought about it, the more surreal it all felt.

She read the tale and took her notes, but when she began to write her little summary, her exhaustion kicked in. A small nap wouldn’t do any harm, she convinced herself. She had time, after all. She hadn’t been sleeping well for the last three days. Both her body and her mind had been in constant alert mode. She may or may not have wanted to test how long she could go without sleep as well. Three and a half days are the limit, I suppose. With a sigh, she leaned forward, putting her arms on her notebook and placing her head on top. She closed her eyes, and let the chirping of the birds take her away into yet another dream world. At some point, she faintly felt drool slowly making its way towards the paper of her notebook. Mumbling something in her mother tongue under her breath, she tried to wipe it with her sleeve.

She didn’t know how long she slept, but she woke up to a hand gently shaking her on the shoulder while a voice insistently kept calling her name. Not satisfied with the amount of sleep she was getting, Rin scrunched up her nose and snorted, responding with a shrug of her shoulder and turning of her head to the other side. This didn’t work, for her disturber now doubled his efforts with a slightly worried tinge in his tone. When she realized who the voice belonged to, her eyes shot wide open, and she suddenly sat upright with a start. She heard a sharp intake of breath, and the sound of feet stumbling a few steps back.

“Pr-prince Nelyafinwë?!” she gasped, her eyes finally landing on the nér who looked equally startled and confused. “What – what are you doing here?”

He gave out a small huff, still appearing to be slightly bewildered, “I could ask you the same thing. Are you alright? Why were you slouched onto the table like that?”

Rin blinked, “I was just taking a nap.” When she saw him raise a skeptical brow at her explanation, she added with a sigh, “This is how I sleep. A habit I have developed after my concussion.”

“I see…” He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he opted to not push it. His eyes landed on the stack of books and her notebook sprawled open on the desk. Before he could ask her about it, she stepped in front of the crime scene and covered her drooly notebook, slamming it shut hastily and leaning against the desk as casually as possible. The idea of him finding out she couldn’t read and write didn’t sound all that appealing to her.

“So… what are you doing here?” after beat of hesitation, she finished with, “I-if you don’t mind me asking?”

Amused by her antics, he chuckled as he replied, “I arrived yesterday from the Court. Things are a little quieter now, so I took the opportunity to ask for a leave.” He lifted his gaze to rows of books surrounding them. “I was searching for something to read for leisure when I stumbled into you here.”

“Huh,” Rin was still trying to recover from her shock of being woken up by the eldest son of Fëanáro, so she couldn’t come up with something to say to him right away. Just as she was about to lamely ask how he had been doing, she noticed how tired he looked. Well, tired for elven standards. He still looked as radiant as ever. But seeing these beautiful creatures every single day everywhere had somehow desensitized Rin, so she was now able to notice the small queues of discomfort and “imperfections”. Upon further inspection, she was able to discern how his face was slightly paler than usual, and dark bags were beginning to appear under his eyes. Work at Court must be exhausting.

“Is there a particular book you were looking for?” Rin asked conversationally.

The eldest prince nodded, holding a book up for her to see. She only had a brief moment to decode the title, but she managed to gather that it was a book on the history of Tirion. “I was here to fetch two books, actually. I managed to find this one, but the other one eludes me. It should be around here, but…”

“What’s it called?” Rin asked, already feeling like she knew the answer.

Lo and behold, the answer was exactly that. “‘Tales of the Great Journey’” replied the prince.

“Then you are in luck, my prince,” Rin said with a grin. She turned half-way around, and lifted that very book for him to see. She gestured for him to take it.

Prince Nelyafinwë’s eyes widened a fraction. “Lucky indeed,” but he didn’t make a move to take it. “But aren’t you reading it at the moment? I don’t mind waiting for you to finish it first.”

Reading something on a time limit would take the joy out of it, especially when she was still a slow reader. So, Rin waved her hand dismissively, “No no, it’s alright. I already have what I need. You can have it.”

Rin swore she could see the lightbulb go off in his head. Maybe it was because he was so tired that she could interpret his expressions so easily now. “On second thought, you may keep it,” he said, backing hurriedly and turning his gaze towards a particular set of books, “The same book was initially written in Sarati. I can read from that.” His long, slender fingers grazed the spines of the old books. “Ah!” having found what he was looking for, he pulled one from the shelf, and held up its cover up for her to see. “Here it is.”

Her eyes widened, “You can read Sarati? I thought it wasn’t used anymore.”

“It isn’t,” the prince confirmed, “but my father invented the Tengwar around the time I was born. It took a while to improve and adjust it, during which the majority still used Master Rúmil’s Sarati. So that was the first alphabet I learned when I was an elfling.”

“Whoa,” Rin couldn’t help but be impressed. Her child-like amazement earned her an amused chuckle from the redhead. God he is old, she thought. Then, with a slight frown, she realized that Eӓrien wasn’t much younger either. Needless to say, age was a matter she was still struggling with.

“I didn’t know you were interested in the lore of the Great Journey,” said the prince, snapping her out of her reverie. “Then again, I suppose it makes sense that you wanted to know what the Noldor made of the Eastern side of Arda.”

“Yep,” Rin said, grinning. He wasn’t too far off. That was one of the reasons why she had chosen this book. “And what about you, my prince? Why are you interested in these tales from a time before elves came to Valinor?” From what she could see, the Noldor were quite content with living in literal paradise and not thinking about the majority of the world that was still covered in darkness.

Prince Nelyafinwë lowered his eyes to look at the book in his hands. Absent-mindedly caressing the cover, he said with a slightly somber voice, “I sometimes turn to these books for clarity. One would think that life in Tirion is much more complex than the ones in these tales, but it isn’t, really. Just because it has been hundreds of years since then, doesn’t make it more primitive or simple. I suppose… I like the way these tales whisk me away at different times and places.” Lifting his gaze, he gave a half-shrug along with a sheepish smile, “It also never hurts to reconnect with one’s roots.”

Rin hummed in contemplation. The prince had a point. Half of these tales were of the Eldar during the Journey, but the other half was of the group of elves they called “the Avari”. She was particularly interested in the latter, and was hoping to find more information about them than the ones she had read in Tolkien’s books. Rin doubted that the Avari called themselves “the Unwilling”, for example, but that was unfortunately how the Noldor (and the rest of the elves in Valinor) called them. Since no Noldor had wanted to return to the East yet, she supposed she should’ve expected not to be able to find the names of different tribes of the elves who had chosen to stay in Middle Earth. These stories were culturally no more up to date than the Grimm Tales in her world. She wondered if there were any tales or stories from the time when elves hadn’t split into any branches yet and were simply called “the Quendi”.

“It’s normal to yearn for something that was lost along the way instead of always thinking about what was gained,” Rin said softly, sensing the way he tried to divert her from his own musings with his last sentence.

A look of surprise crossed the prince’s face at her comment. He was now regarding her as if he was seeing her for the first time. He clearly wasn’t expecting her to say that. Oh god, Rin thought, did I say something weird? She started fidgeting. He noticed her discomfort immediately, and averted his eyes while he cleared his throat. Even their “awkward” doesn’t look awkward, Rin couldn’t help but sigh internally.  

The prince opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut short by a deep rumbling that rose straight from the pits of Rin’s stomach. Rin’s eyes widened in horror and embarrassment. She hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, when Telperion’s light still dominated over Laurelin’s. Stressed and desperate to learn, she had been too caught up in the library that she couldn’t even realize how hungry she had become.

“S-sorry,” she mumbled, feeling her face heat up.

She heard the prince say, “There’s no need to apologize.” Though his tone indicated he was trying not to laugh.

Not wanting to look the prince in the eye, she turned her gaze towards the window. It looked like it had been quite a while since Laurelin had started to bloom. Rin’s breath got caught in her throat at the prospect of missing breakfast. The bell must’ve rung by now.

“My Prince, how long has it been since the bell has rung?” Rin asked, the pitch in her voice slightly higher than usual. She was supposed to go to the workshop afterwards. She couldn’t afford to be completely drained physically when she was already sleep-deprived.

“More than a couple of hours, I reckon,” he said, but Rin was already scrambling her books, quills, and notes together in her arms before he could even finish his sentence.

“I gotta go!” she exclaimed, shuffling past the astonished prince hurriedly, her hair disheveled from her nap and eyes alight with urgency. “I’m late for breakfast!” Suddenly remembering whose presence she was in, she quickly turned and briefly offered a clumsy curtsy to the eldest son of Fëanáro. The books almost fell. Straightening abruptly, she turned her back and ran, shouting back “Uh, nice to see you again, Prince Nelyafinwë!”

Said prince appeared to want to say something to her, his arm unconsciously reaching out to the odd nís. “Rin, wait – breakfast is already…” But she was out of earshot before he could finish his sentence, so the human inhabiting Eӓrien’s body couldn’t hear his warning. Neither could she hear him sighing in mild exasperation or see him dragging his hand across his face, unable to hide the shaking of his shoulders from laughter. 

******

Rin made a run straight to her chambers. Once she finally arrived at the front of her door, she reached for the door handle with one hand while she tried to balance her books and quills with the other and her knee. She shouldered her way in, and practically threw all her stuff onto the bed before she sprinted out of her chambers again, slamming the door shut with a loud bang that made the nearby servants jump with startlement. The fact that she could see the servants having gone back to work made her more anxious. She really could’ve missed breakfast.

Rin raced towards the stairs, all the while muttering “Shit, shit, shit, shit….” under her breath. She almost flew down the stairs, barely able to land on her two feet. But she had faith in her new body despite its exhaustion, and it proved to be reliable enough to keep her from falling and breaking a bone. She didn’t have time to admire its athletic abilities, though. She ran all the way to the other side of the palace’s first floor to reach the hall where servants dined.

Surely enough, breakfast was already over. The food and the dishes were already collected, leaving the long tables barren and the benches devoid of its sitters. No one was around. Her stomach rumbled painfully, echoing her frustration and scolding her for blatantly ignoring it for such a long time for no reason. She groaned as all her energy suddenly drained from her body. Bending down, she grabbed her knees as she stood at the hall’s entrance, trying to catch her breath.

This is my fault entirely, she whined. She wasn’t going to be able to eat for the next five to seven hours. She would survive, but it was going to be unpleasant. Hold on, she straightened slowly, I could just go to the kitchen and grab something to eat, right? Simple as that. With a new objective in her mind now, she hurriedly marched towards the palace kitchen.

Once there, Rin slowly opened the door and leaned forward to peek inside. Only a few servants were inside the kitchen at this time of day. The cooks were unhurriedly preparing for the next meal while some servants were washing the dishes. She slowly entered, and approached one of the cooks to ask for something to eat. With a sigh, the cook – an elf with a particularly stern face that far surpassed Winyavílë’s stoic, no-nonsense look – told her that she would have to wait for the next meal, as there was no available food lying around.

“Something from one of the cellars would do,” Rin tried to compromise, “Something simple, like bread and cheese.”

The cook shook his head resolutely. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. We will start to cook for the next meal soon, so we do not want any ingredients whatsoever out of place.” It was clear that he was unwilling to go all the way to one of the cellars and pull out the stuff they had just put back in right when they were about to get busy. Rin helplessly looked around, but there truly wasn’t anything edible on tables yet. And no one was making their way towards the cellars at the moment. She supposed she could offer to go into one of them herself and swiftly get whatever she needed. But the stern expression on the cook’s face told her that they didn’t trust a stranger to mess up their cellars. It seems like no matter what I do, Rin thought bitterly, everyone has a place except for me. She wasn’t a servant. She wasn’t a noble. She wasn’t an artisan or a craftsman. Then, what was she?

Someone out of place.  

But this was something the real Eӓrien had to figure out herself. Rin had her own life and purpose back in her world. If she wanted to get out of this one, she needed to focus on those to get through this. Her motivation was to get her old life back. She would learn what she had to here until that time came. Trying to be an Elda alone took so much of her time as it was.

But did she really have to fight for everyone’s trust even in such simple matters? With a frustrated sigh, she made her way out of the kitchen, muttering to herself unflattering words in her mother tongue again. Exhaustion had made her quite careless, she realized with a snort and a shake of her head.

As she stood outside of the kitchen, an idea dawned on her. Technically, her share of food was still in there, uneaten. The food she would’ve eaten had she arrived at the Hall on time, she concluded with a petulant shrug of her shoulders. She didn’t care how flawed her reasoning probably was, but by God what was the worst thing that could happen?

Rin didn’t know if her blatant boldness bordering on foolishness came from the fact that she would leave this place entirely at some point. It wouldn’t matter what any of the people here thought of her. Clenching her fists, she hardened herself with these thoughts, all the while giving herself pep talk after pep talk under her breath. “Alright. You can do this. You can do this. You’re an elf. Kinda. Sorta. You’re naturally stealthy. You can do this.”

She tried to overlook the fact that the people beyond the door were also elves.

She gingerly turned the door handle and slowly opened the door a fraction. Things were slowly getting busy now, so the few elves that had been in the kitchen had started to move faster, putting pots and utensils in place. She had no doubt more elves would come any moment now. She had to be quick.

Heart in her mouth, she slipped through the door and closed it behind her silently, not taking her eyes off the elves. They didn’t notice her even when she began to shuffle along the wall, half-blindly reaching for one of the cellar doors. She used cupboards and tray-holders as her cover, pausing occasionally and waiting for the right moment to move on. At one point, a cook noticed something move near one of the tray holders – the one that rejected her pleas for a late meal – and began walking towards her. Eyes wide with trepidation, Rin crouched down, making herself even smaller in her hiding spot while she peeked between the trays.

At that moment, a commanding yet cheerful voice cut through the mild hubbub of the kitchen. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to formally greet the owner of the voice.

It belonged to none other than Prince Nelyafinwë. The young prince entered the kitchen with graceful, energetic steps; his fiery red hair flowing slightly from the wind that got in through the windows. Rin witnessed with her own eyes how everyone’s mood suddenly changed, including her own. The servants’ faces lit up with a mixture of awe and respect, their love for their prince evident in their eyes. Said prince strolled into the kitchen with a head canted in greeting, obviously used to having all the attention on himself. But unlike Prince Turcafinwë, who had a certain feel of arrogance behind him perceiving the attention, Prince Nelyafinwë’s expression carried the acknowledgement of the weight such attention would put on his shoulders. His gestures were of responsibility and a sense of duty, and not of preening. Rin wondered if this was the case for all of the first-born of the House of Finwë. After all, they are the ones who are specifically raised to become kings, right?

The elf that had been approaching her before stopped in his tracks as well, forgetting her entirely as he saw the prince walk towards him with a smile. “Ah, Cundion. I have been looking for you.” Giving out a soft smile, Prince Nelyafinwë said to the others, “Please, don’t let me keep you. You may continue with your work.” With that, the servants went back to work, but their movements appeared more enthusiastic and energized now that their prince was there. Rin could see that this change came from genuine respect and not from the fear of getting scolded.

“How may I be of service, my prince?” asked the cook excitedly, his eyes following the redhead as the prince moved opposite him in two smooth, natural steps to the other side of the table. His back was facing Rin now, covering her from the other elf’s view completely.

“I have been meaning to ask you something regarding the menu,” said the prince conversationally. “Your family keeps bees, if I am not mistaken?”

“Yes, my prince. We provide for the honey in the palace,” said Cundion, now his voice a little unsure.

The eldest son of Fëanáro dismissed his worries with a wave of his hand, “I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about. I was just wondering whether your bees have been visiting new nectar sources lately. The new honey’s color is lighter, and it tastes sweeter than those from wildflowers. The Ambarussa loved it.” He clasped his hands behind his back in a casual, relaxed manner.

“Ah! Yes, my prince,” stammered the elf. Rin could barely see past Prince Nelyafinwë’s shoulder that he was blushing with pride. “We’ve started to try black locust trees as sources. It was a local success, so my family decided to send some to the palace. I’m glad it’s well-received here also.”

As the conversation went on, Rin noticed a slight movement on the prince’s lower back. One of his hands had started to secretly gesture for her to go left, the forefinger pointing towards a cellar door near the kitchen’s garden entrance. Her eyes widened as she realized he was silently communicating with her.

Very slowly, she shuffled to the other side of her hiding spot, her eyes finding the door she was supposed to run at. To say that she wasn’t reluctant to leave it would be a lie. A small part of her suspected the prince’s seemingly nice gesture to be a trap, waiting to close in on her the moment she stepped out of the protection of the rows of tray. But she also realized she had little choice but to trust him, since she was practically a sitting duck waiting to be discovered if she didn’t move soon. The prince could only gather so much attention on himself at once.

She briefly closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Then, trusting his judgement, she slowly slipped out and tiptoed along the wall to the door he had been pointing at. As she did, he too began to slowly move to the left, all the while naturally keeping up with the conversation. If Rin had had any doubts before, now she was sure. He was helping her, and she was sure as hell not going to let the prince’s favor go to waste. With a new-found determination, she managed to make her way towards the cellar stealthily. In the blink of an eye, she was inside, gingerly closing the door behind her.

She had to be quick now. Squinting her eyes in hopes of adjusting to the dim lighting of the cellar, she began moving among rows of stored up food. Some were kept in pots, some in barrels. Rays of silver mixed with gold pierced the room from only one opening, which was a small window high above a wall. It was eerily quiet except for her own rapidly beating heart and panting breaths. She could see other doors on the walls that most probably led to the bowels of the palace, where food that required much lower temperatures were stored. It must be like a maze around here, Rin thought. No wonder they didn’t want me snooping around.

But Prince Nelyafinwë must have pointed to this part of the cellar for a reason. She should be able to find what she needed without having to go deeper.

Surely enough, rummaging through rows and cupboards, she managed to find some leftover cheese and bread. Carefully wrapping them in tissues and tucking them under her arm, she continued with her little investigation. She almost did a little victory jump when she found a basket full of apples. After a brief consideration, she took two, placing one onto her mouth and holding the other with her hand. She needed one hand free for her escape, so she gathered everything by pressing them to her body with one arm.

One apple firmly trapped between her teeth, Rin headed to the door through which she had come in. Before heading out, she put her ear onto the door in an attempt to figure out whether it was safe to go out. She could still hear the muffled sounds of conversation between the prince and the cook.

This time, she didn’t hesitate to open the door, albeit without letting go of caution just yet. She peeked out to see Prince Nelyafinwë now facing her, and the cook’s back was facing her this time. Cundion was enthusiastically explaining something to the prince about the breakfast menu, his attention fully on the ingredients on the table. For a split moment, the redhead’s gaze found hers. She could swear she saw his eyes widen a little upon noticing her, his lips twitching up ever so slightly. Rin supposed she was quite the sight, an apple in her mouth, arms full of food, and eyes wide like a deer caught in flashlight. The moment passed quickly, though, for his eyes left hers almost immediately as he leaned down to ask the elf in front of him a question with a low voice.

Rin didn’t intend to stay long to find out what they were talking about. It was now or never, for the number of elves in the kitchen were increasing by the minute. Someone would walk over to her direction soon. Her eyes darting around to find the way she had come in, she saw that it was now occupied by the servants who were bringing in fresh supplies, recently provided. Biting her lip to stop herself from muttering a curse, she tried to drown the anxiety that was starting to bubble in her chest. That only left the garden entrance, which was wide open. The only problem was, well, if she made a run for it, she would be wide in the open too.

Luckily, with new supplies coming in, heads began to turn in the direction of the palace entrance. Now’s the time! She bolted from the cellar and sprinted to the garden entrance. She didn’t know if she even breathed as she passed through the threshold, and clutching her hard-won breakfast and running nonstop into the depths of the garden without looking back. I can thank the prince some other time, she thought as her feet directed unconsciously made their way to her secret spot beneath the sycamore trees. Fortunately, no one stopped her or called after her.

Finally out of sight and earshot, she plopped down onto the grass and spilled her breakfast onto her lap. She could feel her cheeks burning from adrenaline and all that running. Biting down on the apple in her mouth, she giggled while she ate, reveling in the sweetness of the fruit.  As the giddy feeling inside her chest slowly dissipated, she began to dig into the bread and cheese. Not having any cutlery with her, she just bit into them both. It was a simple meal, but it would certainly carry her through the workshop today.

While she munched on her humble breakfast, she thought of her unexpected ally. She had always imagined Maedhros to be the model prince – well, at least at the beginning of his life – who wouldn’t stoop so low to bother to cover for someone like her for the sake of his image. Heh, Rin snorted, maybe Celegorm was right. I am a thief. She shook her head, chuckling. “Who knew he would be my partner in crime?” she asked to herself, mouth half full with bread.

Suddenly, her surroundings grew a little darker as if clouds were blocking the sun. “Well, clearly you’re a terrible influence,” said a voice from above her, making her freeze on the spot. Swallowing the bread, she slowly raised her head up to see Prince Nelyafinwë looming over her, hands on his hips and a brow raised in a mock-serious expression.

After a beat of silence, Rin abruptly held out the apple she hadn’t yet bitten. “Here,” she said , “A compensation for corrupting the princeliest of princes in Valinor.”

A boyish smile appeared on his face as he took the apple from her, holding it up to inspect. “I suppose this can count as proper tribute,” Looking at her again, he sighed rather dramatically, “I usually do not get awards for such favors, though.”

“I’m a thief with conscience,” she quipped, making them both chuckle. “I always reward my subordinates.” Rin’s brows furrowed as she remembered what he said. “Wait, ‘usually’?”

The prince hummed, “How do you think the Ambarussa were able to get away with stealing snacks from the kitchen without getting caught?” He pointed to the ground next to her with his eyes. When Rin responded with a “Sure”, he sat down next to her, and bit into his apple.

Rin raised a brow, “So you have a whole history of corruption,” she concluded. Oh, the irony.

“I’m afraid once the process has begun, it cannot be stopped,” he sighed, a hint of drama in his voice. Rin wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry at that statement.

Instead she played along, and gave out a little, petulant huff, “And here I thought I had the honors of corrupting you first by making you my accomplice.” This was the first time she saw him this relaxed. Informal, almost.

“I have six younger brothers,” said Prince Nelyafinwë, “mischief has been a common practice in this household for quite some time.” He looked at her with a small smirk on his face, “Though I didn’t think it could still pass well into adulthood. In that case, you’ll need more practice if you want to become an evil mastermind.”

“Ah! I knew it. My stealth needs work,” Rin said, humbly accepting criticism. She popped a piece of cheese and bread into her mouth.

“And determination,” added the prince. “If you start something, you need to have the courage to finish it.”

She snorted, “Steal like you mean it, huh?” Fake it till you make it.

“Precisely.” He smiled, “Your indecision almost cost you your cover.”

Rin felt like his sentence hit a little too close to home, however unintentionally it appeared to be. With a shake of her head, she sighed, “It’s unfortunate that I didn’t have a coach like you when I was young. If I had, I would’ve been unstoppable.”

“It’s never too late to impart invaluable family wisdom to those who need it,” he shrugged. “I might not be there to cover for you next time after all.”

“Oh?” Rin raised a brow. “You think there will be a next time?”

He eyed her up and down, then said lightly “Just a hunch.”

“Hey!” Rin exclaimed indignantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Silence. She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “I’ll have you know that I’ve been nothing but a law and custom abiding inhabitant of this palace.”

His sidelong glance at her before he bit into his apple told her that he didn’t believe her one bit. “I see that your acting needs some work as well.”

You have no idea.  

Rin couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “And what about you, my prince? What happened to the goody-two-shoes act?” She wanted to facepalm herself once she realized what she had just said.

He furrowed his brows, and cocked his head with a confused, albeit amused expression. “What does that mean, ‘goody-two-shoes’?”

Great. Here we go again. “A saying from Tol Eressëa,” she tried to deflect with a sheepish smile. “I just translated it to Quenya without thinking about it.” After all, those who lived on the island spoke a different language compared to those who lived in Valinor as a result of years of sundering. I really should stop attributing every odd thing I say to that island. I feel like I’m doing a disservice to them. I don’t even know them! In fact, I should stop talking altogether.

“I see,” the prince hummed, then lifted a brow in challenge, “And what does it mean?”

Darn. Rin was afraid he might ask that. She supposed she could lie, but she had the feeling that the prince could detect her if she tried to sugarcoat its meaning. Besides, this was the most informal she had seen him. He had always been friendly and approachable, but she soon realized that this was a face he had shown to everyone. His interactions with the servants in the kitchen were proof of that. That didn’t mean he wasn’t genuine, but his actions carried the weight of responsibility and duty along with his generally polite attitude. Like the mask of an ideal ruler.

In the end, she just decided to go with it, “A very well-behaved person. Almost to the point of pretentiousness.” She winced internally in anticipation for a scolding, but she also couldn’t help but feel a little curious whether he would show a different reaction. It was like experimenting, and her test subject was a prince of the Noldor, third in line for the throne. An uneasy feeling was beginning to emerge at that thought, something that she had felt before when she was bickering with Carnistir in the library. But she pushed it aside to be figured out later.

The eldest son of Fëanáro outright scoffed at her callous answer. If Rin had to guess, he looked surprised at her display of such blatant audacity. He shook his head in disapproval, yet his eyes sparked with amusement.

He raised his head and looked down at her in a mock-pompous manner. “I will pretend I did not hear you call me pretentious just now.” The hint of a smirk apparent on his noble face, he added, “As I am a ‘goody-two-shoes’.”

Whatever response Rin was expecting to hear, this wasn’t it. She blinked a few times in astonishment before breaking into laughter. She heard the prince chuckle along with her.

Encouraged by his reaction, she gave a dramatic bow to the prince. Well, as dramatic as it could be while sitting. “I am in your debt, my prince.”

He huffed, “Who knew a concussion could turn one into such a menace?”

“A menace in training,” Rin corrected.

Prince Nelyafinwë nodded seriously, “Yes, you certainly need more work.” He cleared his throat and touched his chest, “I’m happy to oblige, of course.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Why, though? I mean… why help me?”

“Hmmm,” the prince leaned back, and turned his face skyward in search of an answer. After a few moments, he turned to her and shrugged, “I’m not sure. I guess I just want to see what you’ll do next.”

Maybe this is his way of keeping an eye on me, Rin couldn’t help but think, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. After all, she had been under scrutiny ever since she got here.

“Well,” Rin said, wiping her hands on her skirt and gathering the now-empty tissues, placing her apple core in them. She gestured for Prince Nelyafinwë to throw his in there as well, which he silently obliged. Folding them to a ball to throw away once she got inside, she said, “I’m afraid the next lesson will have to wait. Lady Nerdanel expects me at her workshop, and I’m already late,” she said, pointing at the sky. Sighing dramatically, she added, “She prefers to tutor goody-two-shoes.”

Genuine laughter erupted from the prince as she gave a tiny curtsy. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment upon drawing such a sound out of him. By the time she turned around and started walking away, she could feel her cheeks and ears burning.

Chapter Text

Dear Eӓrien,

I hope you’re doing well, wherever you are. Since I am here, in your body, I assume you are currently inhabiting mine. If that is the case, take good care of it, because I intend to go back to it as soon as possible. Human bodies are much more fragile, so don’t you dare get me sick or break a bone. And don’t do anything too stupid.

In the meantime, I’ve decided to catch you up on what I’ve been doing as you via these journal entries, so that you aren’t as clueless as I was upon my arrival. This will hopefully save you from embarrassing yourself (and me). You’re welcome.

As you may have noticed, this is written in my mother tongue. This is so that things I wrote here remain between us. Besides, if I’m going so far as to trouble myself with learning how to read and write in Quenya, I can only assume that you have been doing the same with my language. Although, I’m afraid your struggle will not end with just one. English is the most important one among the others. My very education depends on it, so make sure you learn that one too.  I did consider writing this in Quenya, since Moryo says I need to practice writing more often. But then, I couldn’t possibly show this to him so that he could correct my mistakes.

I was nigh illiterate when I first came here, but I have a feeling that you knew how to read and write in Quenya. For me, words made sense so long as I didn’t look at them too hard. A gift from you, perhaps? At any rate, I hope the same happened to you with the languages I know.

Anyway. A lot has happened since I came to Valinor. People think that we have a concussion, so make sure you integrate that well into your story once you get back here. Also, I began an apprenticeship at Lady Nerdanel’s workshop. I’m almost entirely certain that she offered this to keep an eye on me. She’s worried about you, you know. She doesn’t want to leave you alone, and this is her way of showing you her support. I like her. She reminds me of my own mother. Like a silent but supporting pillar of strength. Try not to be too hard on her when you come back. She might not know the details, but she is aware that we (or rather, you) have been going through something. I advise you to keep her close.

Oh, by the way, I befriended Moryo (Prince Morifinwë). Yes, I know. Crazy, right? He even lets us call him “Moryo”. He’s the one who showed me around the palace after my arrival. He might appear to be unsociable from a distance, but he’s actually pretty neat. One thing that pleasantly surprised me once we became acquaintances was that he wasn’t quick to anger per se (though he is rather sassy and grumpy at times – then again, so am I), but he is just brutally honest and doesn’t bother sugarcoating his words most of the time. He is plain and open with his feelings, even when they are those of disdain or displeasure. Honestly, I applaud him for that. Niceties are overrated here, so I understand why he has a reputation among those at Court. Neither of us possesses “tact”. Moody and grumpy as he can be, he is a good friend. He even agreed to tutor us in knitting. He might be regretting it, though – I am driving him mad. Let’s just hope you’re better at it than I am. Either at the former or the latter. He’s also tutoring us in Quenya. We’ve been meeting up in the palace library regularly. He is strict, but also a good teacher. When you come back, give him a chance to be your friend. He might surprise you, too.

I’ve met the rest of the princes as well, though I only interacted with Princes Nelyafinwë and Turcafinwë (and Huan). I can safely say that the third prince does not like us. Well, me specifically. He knows there’s something odd going on with us, though I don’t think he knows what it is. Regardless, he suspects me. He thinks I’m out to get his family or something. That’s my guess anyway. He even threatened me when we encountered him in the shack at the edge of the forest, that jerk. Whenever he was at the palace, he tried to unsettle me by making sudden visits to the workshop. He’d make a poor spy. It was rather pathetic. And I’m almost certain that he has spoken to Moryo against me. Moryo didn’t say or do anything outright, but I can tell. Honestly, that part pisses me off the most. Not the threat or the scrutiny (though those are annoying as hell), but the attempt to isolate me. I don’t know what he’s trying to achieve by doing this. Even his dog likes me (somewhat). Speaking of Huan, he knows I don’t belong here, though he is much more sympathetic. He did give me a scare when we first met, but we managed to settle our differences. He’s a good boy.

As for Prince Nelyafinwë… I don’t know what to think of him yet. So far, he has been nothing but courteous and polite. All his brothers and the palace staff appear to love and respect him as a prince. To be honest, it all seems too perfect to me. And considering this is Valinor, the land of perfection, that’s saying a lot. Though I don’t think he isn’t a genuinely good person either. He even helped me steal food from the kitchen one time – don’t ask how that happened. Just… know that it did. A series of poor choices were made on my part. Ah, he also gave me a cute drawing of a wren. It’s in your chamber, in one of the desk drawers. I’m planning on hanging it on the wall near the desk. Anyway. He confuses me, but I don’t think he has malicious intent.

Speaking of your room, I took the liberty of decorating it. It has a rug now, along with some houseplants and trinkets. Considering how barren it was when I first came here, I’d say it’s an improvement. It feels a lot warmer now. Of course, feel free to arrange it however you want once you’re back. Again, you’re welcome.

Ah, also – Vórilotsë is doing well. I believe she was your friend even before my arrival. I call her “Lottie”. She’s as energetic as ever. She helped me pick your houseplants. Turns out, she’s extremely good at gardening.

Now, onto serious business. It has been approximately a hundred days since I woke up here (yes, I keep track). No one here knows of our ailment. I’m reluctant to share it with a member of the household, to be honest. How can I when they haven’t even heard of the Secondborn yet, let alone a human from another world? One would think I’ve gone mad – though that possibility crosses my mind every single day I open my eyes here. My only hope is to encounter one of the Ainur. I have been to Tirion quite a few times already, but I didn’t see a single Maia or a Vala. Lottie says that they were there whenever she went to Tirion without me. I’m starting to think that they have a radar or something. Are they watching me? I can’t help but laugh at the idea of the Valar being wary of me. I mean, I know I can be a terrible person at times, but to think that even angels avoid good old me? Kind of overkill, don’t you think? Lottie calls me “Ainur repellent” now. I don’t know whether I should be proud or pissed at that. Both? Both. Both is good, I suppose.

Lady Nerdanel says she wants to take me with her on her upcoming expedition. Her sons are all busy, so it’s the “perfect time to leave the house”. Her words, not mine. I’ve decided to go with her. We’ll be visiting Alqualondë and then move up to the mountain skirts. Today I will be going to Tirion with Lottie to shop for more layered clothes, so that I don’t freeze too much in the mountains. Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally see an Ainu while traveling. They might know something about our situation or at least forward me to a Vala. And if that doesn’t work, Moryo said I could write a petition once I get the hang of Tengwar. Apparently, they do answer the petitions. But then again, isn’t that what every customer service promotes? We’ll see if it’s true sooner or later.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to write in the journal during the expedition, but I’ll be taking it with me. I want to take notes of the things I see and learn. Not just for you, but for me as well. After all, how many times do we come into this world? I wish I could take pictures, they would last longer. Alright alright, I’ll stop joking about that. But man, I miss my phone sometimes. The fact that I cannot listen to music whenever I want is reason enough for me to go insane.

Ah, before I forget – people closest to us call me “Rin”, now. So don’t be confused. It didn’t feel right to flaunt around your name everywhere. I don’t want to do you a disservice.  And… it doesn’t feel like it’s mine. I’m not you after all. So I picked “Rin” as an abbreviation and nickname instead.

I hope everything’s fine back at home. I wonder how my sister and my parents are doing. They’re on my mind all the time, and I miss them. Take good care of them for me until I get back, will you? And I also hope that you have been going to university. They’re taking attendance, you know. My friends there can only help you so far. If I come back to learn that I’ve been expelled, you’re dead meat. I can tolerate poor grades or course repetitions (obviously), but expulsion means you’ve crossed a line.

Ah, and one more thing. I know about your parents. I just wanted to say that you’re not alone. Not here, anyway. There are people who care about you and are willing to support you. And if you’re indeed in my world and in my body, you can trust that my mother and sister will be there for you one way or another, whether you tell them of our condition or not. I can picture it clearly: my mother would be trying to calm you down, even though she’s equally confused and panicked on the inside. I bet she fed you soup and wrapped you in blankets on your first day there. You might’ve visited the hospital a few times, but rest assured, mother will not force you to do anything you don’t wish to do. And you’ll see that Lady Nerdanel is hardly any different in that regard.

On that note, I’ll be saying goodbye for now. See you at the next entry. Let’s hope we both find where we belong.

Love,

Nihal

******

Rin blinked in astonishment when Lady Nerdanel gave her the reins of a brown mare with big, white spots all over its body.

With a mouth hanging open, she stuttered, “Y-you’re giving me a horse?” She could barely look after herself. A horse would be a responsibility she wasn’t ready to shoulder.

The mistress of the house of Fëanáro smiled warmly at her and said, “I’m only lending her to you. You may adopt her later, if you wish. Her foals have recently grown up, and now she has the chance to properly stretch her legs,” Seeing how unsure Rin looked, Lady Nerdanel tilted her head a little, and asked, “Do you know how to ride a horse?”

Rin smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of her neck, “N-no, my Lady.”

Lady Nerdanel chuckled and canted her head in reassurance, “It’s understandable. The Teleri don’t ride as often as the Noldor. They prefer sailing or walking. Your mother, too, preferred to walk. She once told me that this was a habit she had picked up thanks to your father.”

Trying to hide her sigh of relief with a huff, Rin smiled, “Is that so?” She was also rather thrilled at the chance of learning things about the real Eӓrien’s parents.

The older nís hummed and echoed her smile with a tinge of nostalgia seeping into it. “So don’t worry. This is a well-trained, experienced mare. The old girl will look after you.” She jumped onto the saddle of her own horse with slow, elaborate movements so as to show Rin how it was done. “You’ll learn to ride on the way.”

Like I do with everything else. I guess this is my life now.

Thankfully, compared to the majestic horses of the royal family, hers was a little smaller. Lady Nerdanel had indeed chosen well.

Before she mounted her horse as Lady Nerdanel had shown her, Rin asked, “What’s her name?”

“Sámo,” Lady Nerdanel said. Helper.

Rin held out her hand to the horse, allowing her to sniff it first. Then, she ran her hand along the calm horse’s hose-bridge and forehead. “I’m counting on you, Sámo,” she whispered, “Let’s get along.”

  The journey took two weeks, if Rin counted her days right. Though she had to constantly remind herself that there was no such thing as weeks or months here. During that time period, they relied on their rations and Lady Nerdanel’s connections. As in, they would occasionally stop by the estate of one of her artisan friends. Lady Nerdanel would introduce Rin to her fellow craftsmen proudly, much to her ward’s embarrassment. The Lady and her charge would then be treated to meals and even given rooms to rest a bit before moving on. Rin delighted in those stops despite her shyness, because some of their hosts had been mutual friends of Lady Nerdanel and Eӓrien’s mother. They would tell her some of their stories from the time when they had traveled all over Valinor together. Lady Nerdanel would occasionally glance at Rin with a worried look on her face, but the young nís’ immersed expression would tell her that everything was fine. Rin was rather successful in hiding her immense longing for her own mother through dissociation by concentrating on the mother of the elf whose body she was currently inhabiting. Keep your distance, look at it from the outside. Then, everything would be fine.

From what Rin could tell, Eӓrien’s mother had been a rather adventurous type. She had never stayed at one place for too long, always exploring, always working on something. The Noldor of Valinor called her Ráva. Untamed, wild. I’m starting to think that Lady Nerdanel has a type, Rin thought on more than one occasion. Unsurprisingly, Lady Nerdanel’s calm and steady personality had both complemented and balanced Ráva’s free spirit. Rin was told that Eӓrien’s mother had constantly clashed with Fëanáro in the best way possible, challenging him in both rhetoric and philosophy. She hadn’t been a craftswoman, but she’d had ideas for all sorts of practical and artistic inventions that Fëanáro had refused to admit were creative. Ráva would offhandedly throw how her ideas were beyond Fëanáro's capabilities, and the stubborn inventor would craft them just to spite her. That was one way to keep the flare of creativity alive. A clever manipulation on her part. It’s the job of the dreamers to imagine, while that of the scientist is to turn it into reality, Rin had thought with a grin. Ráva had been a source of inspiration for both husband and wife, apparently.

Needless to say, Lady Nerdanel had acted as the mediator between them. Rin had the feeling that Eӓrien’s mother had been messing with Fëanáro on purpose. After all, who wouldn’t enjoy pissing off a young, self-important man? It must’ve all been in good nature, though. Otherwise, the Crown Prince and his wife wouldn’t have continued their friendship with her. It wasn’t much different from how Rin would occasionally annoy Moryo. Not that he had a huge ego to pick on. Though now that Rin thought about it, she remembered having caught Lady Nerdanel revealing a rather nostalgic expression on her face whenever she witnessed Rin and Moryo banter. A sad smile would grace her lips in those moments, only to disappear in a flash. Knowing what she knew now, Rin realized that Lady Nerdanel was still mourning her best friend.

******

Rin did her best not to get too distracted by her surroundings as she and Lady Nerdanel walked along the streets of Alqualondë. She tried to keep up with the tall matriarch’s pace, but the fact that her lady’s one step equaled two-and-a-half steps of her own didn’t make things easier. This was when Rin discovered that when Lady Nerdanel was on a mission, she could become rather single-minded. The young nís still didn’t know what said mission was, exactly, but she guessed they needed materials for an upcoming project.

They had left their horses at a mansion that was specifically designed to cater to royal visitors. The servants and managers knew of their visit beforehand, of course. Lady Nerdanel had written to them to ask for two rooms. The mansion was on a tiny hill overlooking the sea, made of pastel-green limestone and white wood. Its modest building materials matched well with the intricately elegant designs carved on the columns of the porch and walls. If there weren’t any reliefs, the walls were adorned with mosaics depicting the sea, the Ainur, the ships, and seagulls. Among those, the one that depicted Ulmo and his Maiar fascinated Rin the most. Ulmo, Ossë, and Uinen were recognizable enough (or so Rin thought), but there were many others, especially the ones that didn’t appear humanoid, like a whale, an octopus and a huge crab. Then, there was a series of murals that told a story – the story of the Teleri’s arrival at Valinor, to be specific. The Great Journey, the Teleri waiting at the shores of Middle Earth, Ulmo arriving with a ferry-island, and temperamental Ossë befriending them and teaching them how to build ships and sail with them. From the chandeliers hung mother-of-pearl that would give out soft clinks from small collisions whenever the wind blew in gently. When she saw the place, Rin was torn between just staying there to rest and joining Lady Nerdanel on her scouting mission. In the end, her curiosity won by a small margin. She was tired, but not that tired.

She hadn’t expected Alqualondë to be much different from Tirion, but it was. Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised. The Teleri are a different people. Though the buildings were elegant, they weren’t nearly as grandiose as those in Tirion. There were not that many towers that sprang up into the heavens either. It was as if their inhabitants wanted to be as close to sea level as possible. The houses came in various pastel colors, too, unlike the nigh monochrome whiteness in Tirion. Olive and fig trees were sprinkled in between, of which Rin took advantage by stuffing her pockets with ripe figs after witnessing Lady Nerdanel and many other residents do the same. The olives didn’t appear to be ready yet, so she refrained from collecting those.

Paths were made of condensed sand, and to her amazement, Rin noticed jewels of various types and sizes glittering among the particles of sand pressed together. It looked like a rainbow. And the surface was so smooth, almost like glass. Surely enough, she looked around to see many Teleri walking barefoot. With a shrug of her shoulders, she bent down and took her traveling boots off, taking them in her hands. The ground was pleasantly cool and smooth beneath her feet. When Lady Nerdanel noticed her skipping behind her joyfully, she chuckled and said, “We should get you a pair of sandals while we’re at it.” For indeed, sandals appeared to be popular footwear around here. 

As if to contrast with the colorful buildings, the Teleri who inhabited Alqualondë wore rather modest clothes. Well, modest compared to the Noldor, at least. But this was clearly a choice that preferred comfort over sparkle. The pastel colors didn’t pop out or immediately steal her attention. The clothes were loose, baggy, and woven by the softest and yet durable material Rin had ever touched. Simple yet elegant designs adorned the sleeves with pearls sprinkled into the designs here and there. People wore flowers and seashells in their hair, which was tied in elaborate braids like the Noldor. Though Rin did see a lot of elves who didn’t tie their hair at all, letting it freely fall all the way down to their hips. How their hair always stayed out of their face or didn’t get stuck in places, Rin had no idea. Frickin’ elves, gotta be gorgeous all the time, she thought spitefully more than once. Compared to the Noldor, the Teleri showed more variety when it came to hair color. Though the majority were black and dark brown, Rin did catch a glimpse of silver-white hair among the crowd many times.

She also noticed that the Teleri were speaking in a rather strange dialect. It was eerily like Quenya, but Rin had to really strain her brain to keep up with the speed of the speakers to understand what they were saying. Just how long were the Teleri sundered from the rest on that island?!

“Where exactly are we going?” Rin couldn’t help but ask. “Are we here to collect materials for a project?”

“Correct,” Lady Nerdanel said with a nod, thus only answering one of her questions. The matriarch trudged on, not sparing a glance at the food stands that were lined up in what Rin assumed was a bazaar, causing her young charge to sigh in defeat and gaze longingly at the fruits and sweets adorning the tables. Witnessing her disappointment, one of the Teleri behind the stalls even gave her a sympathetic smile.

Eventually, Rin found herself standing in front of the door of a house that stood at the edge of the city with Lady Nerdanel, where the path of condensed sand almost met with the real sand. Though calling a curtain of beads a door would be an overstatement. Lady Nerdanel cleared her throat and let whoever was inside know of their arrival. When a voice came from way inside the building, telling them to enter, they stepped in.

It was a workshop, Rin realized. But instead of Lady Nerdanel’s marble statues and ceramics, this one was filled with all sorts of trinkets made of seashells of every kind. Little accessory boxes, figurines that were made of mother pearls looking like they were shiny ivory, hair ornaments, hairpins, and many more. Rin did a 360 to look around, mouth slightly ajar.

Then, an elven woman with snow-white hair appeared behind an interior beaded curtain, going through it as she greeted them. This was the first time Rin saw an “old” elf. Her eyes widened as she tried to take in the elder’s appearance without looking like she was ogling her. She looked to be no older than a human’s late forties. Well, a very, very healthy and young-looking human in their forties, for she was extremely tall in stature. Taller than Lady Nerdanel. Her elegant features were sharpened by edges. Aside from her thin skin, the slight wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth were the only indicators of her “advanced” age.  

“Took you long enough to finally get here, girl,” scolded the elder nís the Princess of the Noldor without batting an eye. “I was starting to think that I’d collected them all for nothing.” Rin stiffened involuntarily. The elder woman had a much more prominent accent than the Teleri in the city, and her voice was deeper than average. Her tone was harsh, her face displaying a rare case of unfiltered crankiness. Silver eyes shone with a harsh glimmer.

Lady Nerdanel wasn’t fazed by it at all, “Sorry for the hustle, Granny Ëarsil,” she said calmly, bowing slightly in greeting. “Granny?” Not “haruni” or whatever the Teleri equivalent of grandmother was, but “granny”. The endearing slang sounded strange when said in Lady Nerdanel’s formal, serious tone. But much to Rin’s further astonishment, her mistress had the beginning of a smirk appearing on her face.

“Where’s your husband? Aren’t you doing this project together? If he’s off somewhere following a passion project and leaving all the work to you, then he’s got another smack coming his way,” grunted Granny Ëarsil. Rin’s mouth hung open at what she was hearing. “Another”?! Had this woman really smacked the Crown Prince of the Noldor, the apple of High King Finwë’s eye? Rin bit her lip to prevent a grin from escaping. Oh, I like her already.

Lady Nerdanel must’ve been sharing her sentiments, for she straightened with a chuckle, “On the contrary. He’s given all his focus on the lanterns and their designs. He’s procuring the other materials as we speak.”

“Lanterns?” Rin asked.

Both nissi turned to her. “Yes,” said Lady Nerdanel. “For this year’s upcoming High Feast. We need nacres to make them, and Gran here will provide them for us.” Then, she turned to Granny Ëarsil again. “Gran, this is Eӓrien, Ráva’s daughter.” This was the queue for Rin to imitate her lady’s initial form of greeting, which she immediately did.

The elder rolled her eyes, “Now you’re insulting my memory, girl? Of course I know who she is. I held her when she was little more than an elfling!” 

“Eru forbid, Gran. I wish to return to my sons and my darling husband,” Lady Nerdanel responded deadpan, without missing a beat. “It’s only that Eӓrien is suffering from amnesia due to a recent accident. She doesn’t remember anything from before the concussion.” She looked at the elder, waiting for permission to continue. Rin was sure a conversation happened between the two women in ósanwë. After a moment of contemplative silence on Ëarsil’s part, Lady Nerdanel was granted consent. “Rin, I want you to meet Granny Ëarsil. She was among the first elves who awoke by the shores of Cuiviénen.”

Rin’s eyes widened in disbelief. Holy fuck. No wonder she looks relatively old!

The next words from said nís threw her off completely in the best way possible. “Your mother was a pain in my butt.” There was a fond irritation behind her slightly gravely voice.

Rin raised a brow, barely containing a snort by subtly biting the inside of her cheek. “Oh?” Yet another name in Ráva’s grudge list, it seemed, right under Fëanáro.

Granny Ëarsil grunted in confirmation. “She would mess up my workshop like a whirlwind every time she visited. She was rude, too. She would call me “old hag”, the nerve of her!”

Lady Nerdanel cleared her throat. “She was also the one who called you “Gran” first,” she added.

A small smile appeared on the elder’s face, “That she was,” she conceded. “She visited me often. Sang to me while I worked and tucked into my apple tarts as if they were the most delicious things in all of Arda,” she chuckled, shaking her head, “That girl would finish an entire tart in one sitting.”

Then, she gestured to Lady Nerdanel, her grumpy but fond demeanor resurfacing for a moment “It was bad enough when she came alone, but then Fëanáro and Nerdanel started to tag along.” With a gesture of her hand, she told them to follow her into what Rin gathered to be a small kitchen. Soon, the three women were setting the table for tea. Granny Ëarsil tended to the teapot, while Rin set the table with what little plates and cutlery the elder had. Lady Nerdanel headed to a cupboard and opened its door without hesitation, pulling out the cookies that she had definitely known were stored there.

While all of this was happening, the elder continued her reminisce, “One time, Fëanáro demanded I teach my craft to them, that brat. But I liked his spirit. So, I did,” Rin listened with a constant smile on her face. She felt like she was listening to some exclusive content that no one else was privy to. “Ráva and Nerdanel picked it up rather quickly. And of course, Ráva began taunting Fëanáro over it.”

“Oh dear,” Rin said, a grin appearing on her face.

“Indeed,” nodded the elder. Once the tea was ready, they all sat down around the small, round table. “And soon the two were shouting at each other at the top of their lungs.” Her entire expression screamed “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Things were going to get violent if it weren’t for you, Gran,” Lady Nerdanel said. “They were about to start throwing seashells at each other.” She turned to Rin with a tired sigh, “At that point, I had given up on trying to calm them down.”

“Your husband should be grateful to have you,” scoffed Ëarsil. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten away with just a smack across the head.”

“So you really did hit him?” Rin asked, astonished.

“I hit them both,” the elder corrected her. Lady Nerdanel nodded sagely. Oh, Rin loved what she was hearing. It all sounded so human. Perhaps this is why she’s living a little apart from the rest of the Teleri.

“Weren’t you worried even a little? He is the Crown Prince of the Noldor after all,” Rin asked.

“Hah! The brat did try that card on me,” the elder cackled.

“Let me guess,” Rin said, raising a brow, “’My father will hear about this?’”

Both Granny Ëarsil and Lady Nerdanel gave out delighted chuckles. “You know it, girl,” the elder confirmed. “It didn’t help that your mother would bring out the worst of his inner elfling.”

“In his defense, Ráva was embarrassing him in front of me,” Lady Nerdanel said in-between chuckles.

“Yes, she was being a little shit, too,” conceded the elder.

“So what happened after he said that?” Rin prompted, munching on a cookie.

Ëarsil shrugged, “I told him to go ahead. That Finwë can’t do shit about it. I changed the High King’s diapers when he was a baby at Cuiviénen. I can embarrass his father in front of his entire Council with just one sentence.”

Rin burst into laughter, throwing her head back and clutching her stomach.

******

The Light of the Two Trees weren’t as strong here as they were in Tirion. From where Rin was sitting on the sands of the small bay, she could see the stars clearly. They shone bright and strong against the waning light of Telperion. The Light didn’t reach all the way to the sky, but was cut off at a high point, allowing the darkness to work its magic. No watchtower needed. Though, there was a lighthouse not so far from Granny’s home. When asked about it, the elder had told her that aside from crafting ornaments and figures from seashells and pearls, her job was to keep the lighthouse alive. Looking at the bay around her, Rin noticed that this was the very bay that Lady Nerdanel had painted and then displayed its picture on the palace wall in Tirion. Rin had seen it on the first day she opened her eyes in Valinor. Her guess was that she had drawn the scenery sitting at the front of the elder’s small house.

“Tending to the lighthouse by myself is tedious enough as it is,” Ëarsil had complained grumpily, “And now I have to collect a million oysters and mussels all over the coast for their crazy lamp project.”

“You could take on an apprentice,” Lady Nerdanel had said, clearly content with having taken advantage of the elder’s soft spot for her. Even thought they weren’t related by blood, Ëarsil seemed to have taken Lady Nerdanel under her wing in a way. And somehow, that wing extended to Rin now.

“The new generation is too caught up on niceties and formalities. They wouldn’t last long here,” she had grunted.

“What about giving Rin a shot? If she wants, that is,” Lady Nerdanel had suggested.

The human in Eӓrien’s body was more than ready to accept that proposition. She was curious more than anything else. And so, it had been decided that Rin would spend a certain time of year beside Granny Ëarsil. She made sure to let the real Eӓrien know of this development in her journal. As for herself, she didn’t know if she would still be here by then. With the mention of the High Feast, a plan was beginning to form in her head.

Rin sighed and turned her gaze from the stars to the calm sea. The waves caressed the sands in soft rustles not so far from where she was sitting cross-legged. Granny and Lady Nerdanel were inside the elder’s house, having a discussion about the lantern project and its logistics. Fëanáro wanted to use the mother of pearl within the shells to frame the lanterns like a lotus flowers, hence the huge number of nacres and Granny’s complaints. Apparently, it had been a request of rather short notice.

What really caught Rin’s attention now, though, was the peculiar sound of patternless music coming from the sea. Having mostly adjusted to her new elvish senses by now, she was somewhat successful in filtering the stimuli. But the sea sounded insistently loud to her, almost drowning the wails of the seagulls. Rin guessed she felt like this partially because this was her first time seeing the sea in this world, and partially because of the natural affinity the elves had with the sea or any kind of water sources. Especially the Teleri. She remembered Eӓrien’s late father being one.

Despite her assumptions, Rin couldn’t help but feel like there was more to it than that. She was feeling a certain pull. A faint call of heart, which she found odd even by elven standards. Isn’t it normally the West that the elves longed to sail to? And yet, Rin had an irrational tug at her heart towards the East. Like it was the ultimate destination at the end of a journey she didn’t even know about. Just like in the palace garden, she couldn’t gather what the music was trying to tell her. It was as if the music was coming from far away, barely making it across the ocean, like a remnant of something echoing all the way to Valinor. But it was constant, insistent.

“The sea’s unusually loud today,” came Ëarsil’s gravelly voice from above. The elder was standing next to her, eyes fixed on the sea. It appeared like she understood more than Rin could.

“Yeah,” Rin said, turning back to the sea. “I wonder what it’s saying.”

“I cannot make sense of it,” Ëarsil said, turning her steely gaze to the young nís. “Not yet. It’s all jumbled. Unclear.”

“Well, then there’s no hope for me,” Rin sighed. “Thank you for having me,” she added gently, referring to her part-time apprenticeship.

“Don’t thank me yet, girl. You might end up running away,” Ëarsil dryly.

“In that case, I’ll be sure to make a dramatic exit, at least,” Rin countered.

“Hmph,” The elder sounded displeased, but there was a smirk on her face. After a beat of silence, she said in a softer tone, “You don’t have to wait for the apprenticeship to start. You can come anytime.”

Rin smiled, and drew her knees to her body, pressing her chin on them as she closed her eyes. She thought she could brave the waves a little better now. “I’ll hold you to it, Gran.”

Chapter Text

On the one hand, their little expedition to Alqualondë and its mountainous outskirts were successful in the sense that they succeeded in finding the materials for the lotus lanterns. Lady Nerdanel ordered them all to be delivered to Tirion as soon as possible. While there was still quite some time until the High Feast, Lady Nerdanel and the Crown Prince needed to start with their project early if they wanted to make thousands of those lanterns. When she asked Lady Nerdanel whether they were really going to do all of them themselves, the older nís laughed and said “Of course not. But we need to see if the blueprints work. Also, we need to come up with multiple designs. Hopefully, by the end, our contribution to the Feast as representatives of the Noldor will be just as magnificent as we’ve planned.”

Rin and Lady Nerdanel also had time for a little sightseeing. During their stay at Granny Ëarsil’s, Rin was able to see the lighthouse up close. The lamp at the top was magic, unsurprisingly. It was basically a glorified Fëanorian lamp. Never would she have thought a single tower would look this elegant both inside and outside, but elves proved her wrong yet again. But it wasn’t as magnificent as the towers in Tirion. It had a much simpler design, for one, but carvings of seagulls and fish decorated its outer walls while inside the white wall was covered with paintings that were done directly on it. “Nerdanel’s work,” said the elder. “She was the one who started the trend. The other two brats followed suit,” meaning some of the paintings were Ráva’s and Fëanáro’s handiwork.

“You have your own little contributions here and there, Gran,” Lady Nerdanel added, biting back a smile.  She was rewarded with a glare and a grunt, but the elder didn’t deny it. The way Granny Ëarsil eyed these paintings was akin to how parents reacted in fond exasperation when their toddler drew on the walls with their crayons. Except these weren’t simply the doodles of a child, but instead artistic masterpieces that would be on par with Renaissance paintings.

The little bay that was Ëarsil’s abode aside, Rin also got to see the infamous swanships before they left for the mountainside. A few of them were out in the open sea – well, as “open” as the naturally arching entrance to the harbors allowed. And outside of that, Rin could barely make out some of the islands circling Aman like a crescent moon. She wondered which one Tol Eressëa was, and whether it was possible to visit it one day.

The swanships came in various sizes, some as big as small boats and some as big as roomy ferries. But they were all of the same model and color. White, swan-shaped with golden beaks and beady eyes with jet-black pupils that seem to follow one’s movement. It reminded Rin of some plush animals or dolls whose eyes followed one at all angles. Creepy, but beautiful and elegant. While big ships had three to four sails, the smaller ones sported only one. Like the buildings in Tirion, all of the ships were white, including their sails. There were, however, tokens akin to heraldries at the center of the sails that popped out against the white canvas of the sail, no doubt to show which House the ships belonged to. Rin stood in front of the ships for a long time – much to Lady Nerdanel’s confusion – thinking about their demise and the cost the Noldor would have to pay to obtain them. The matriarch misinterpreted her reverie as curiosity and began to explain the process of their making. Though, some details eluded even her, for the precise making of these ships was something only the Teleri were privy to. Unlike the Noldor who were adamant on sharing everything concerning their craft for the sole purpose of geeking out non-stop about it, the Teleri were rather secretive about the art of ship-making. Rin supposed the Teleri, being the latecomers to Aman and all, wanted to have something they could hold over the Noldor and the Vanyar. “Let this be our specialty,” type of thing. When she asked Lady Nerdanel and Granny Ëarsil what made these ships so special, she was hoping they would explain why they were “magic”. And they didn’t disappoint, saying that the sails were woven with Songs of Power taught to them by Ossë and Uinen, and that each white plank had a certain place that was rumored to be whispered to them by Ulmo. That was why no matter where these ships were, they would always find their way back to these shores. Suffice to say, Rin’s little exploration of the Swan-haven was a success in the sense that she got to spend some time with Lady Nerdanel and Granny Ëarsil, learned about the nature of the swanships and tasted some local delicacies.

On the other hand, their expedition was unsuccessful in the sense that Rin wasn’t able to have a proper conversation with a single Ainu. She did come across one while they were on the hunt for adamantine minerals on the mountainside, in front of a mine. This was Rin’s first time seeing an old-fashioned mine, but her fascination was quickly shadowed when she noticed a tall figure bending down as she walked out through the mine’s entrance. She had a faint orange-gold glow around them that reminded Rin of the color of melting metal. Her voice was akin to flames fanned by the wind. One glance was enough for Rin to realize that this person was most definitely not an elf. For one, elves didn’t hurt the eye to look at, as far as Rin knew. Although her features were as beautiful and as elegant as an elf’s, they didn’t sport pointy ears, but instead had ears that were very much like a human’s. Not to mention their height, which was abnormal even for an elf. Rin couldn’t help but wonder how she managed to get around in the mines. The Maia could barely fit through the wooden-framed entrance. One of Aulë’s Maiar, I presume.

Rin tried not to stare too much while she waited for Lady Nerdanel to finish her interview with the Maia. She had to pinch herself to snap out of her reverie in favor of scrambling through her mind to figure out how to approach the Ainu to explain her situation. Her mind was threatening to draw blank. She had been waiting for this opportunity for so long, and now that it was here, she couldn’t even think of a way to approach the matter properly. I should’ve planned for this, she chastised herself. Would she even have some time alone with her? It was at that moment Rin wished she knew ósanwë so that she could silently communicate with her. But then, the very thought that she could even establish a mental connection to a Maia alone made her knees go weak. In the grand scheme of things, in this vast world, she was but a small, small person. Who was she to approach such a being with her mind?

She barely heard the conversation between Lady Nerdanel and the Maia – Malondo, her name was Malondo – her eyes slightly looking to the side but secretly keeping the Ainu in her periphery at all times to make sure she didn’t just vanish. Aside from the mental panic she was going through, Rin also felt an immense sense of trepidation, for the prospect of talking to a literal “angel” was almost too much for her. It was almost as bad as the time she met Fëanáro. Well, she huffed internally, given who he is, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he can be just as intense as the Ainu.

Somehow, remembering her encounter with Fëanáro gave her strength. She had already met a legend. Not to mention the fact that she managed to somewhat befriend two of his sons who were, if anything, arguably as legendary as him. Let me borrow a fraction of that fire of his, she took a deep breath and clenched her fists determinedly. She chuckled inwardly. If a memory of the Crown Prince was enough to spark a little flame of courage inside of her, she could understand why almost the entirety of the Noldor would willingly join him in his exile to Middle Earth. Whether that effect lasted or whether he would want those followers was another matter.

As the matriarch of the House of Fëanáro and the Maia of Aulë moved towards the entrance of the mines, Rin followed close behind them silently. Surely an opening would present itself. If not, well, then she was going to have to create one herself.

The mine was surprisingly roomy and well lit. Fëanorian lamps illuminated the tunnel in rich, bright blue lights. With her head bowed slightly because of her height, Malondo made her way towards a group of wooden boxes stashed to the side. She and Lady Nerdanel soon began to talk about began to talk about different types of minerals and their lustre, primarily comparing diamonds and zircon. Most of the conversation went over Rin’s head, not just because she was too distracted with what she was going to say to the Maia, but also because she zero clue as to what they were talking about, thus was unable to contribute.

But when Lady Nerdanel finally turned her attention to inspecting the minerals to see whether she would order them for the lanterns, Rin found a chance to shuffle over to Malondo. While she wasn’t so naïve to think that she would be instantly teleported to her own world, she was at least hoping to find some sort of explanation as to why and how she was here, and what she should do to get back. The Maia could at least help her direct her efforts to the right place, even if she didn’t know everything.

 She cleared her throat to get the Ainu’s attention. “Hello, Malondo…” her eyes widened as she briefly considered whether she should address the Maiar with just their names, “I – I mean! L-lady Malondo…”

The Maia in question partially turned her body towards her, tilting her head to the side with curiosity. Her unblinking stare bore through Rin, unnerving her.

Steeling herself again, she continued with a hushed voice, “I was hoping we could talk,” her eyes darted left and right, “… in private.” In addition to Lady Nerdanel, there were also quite a few elves nearby who were assisting the Maia in her mining endeavors. “I need your help,” she said, looking Malondo directly in the eye.

The Maia looked at her with an unreadable expression on her face. Rin could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest as she waited for an answer. Finally, Malondo gave a small nod and gestured for them both to step outside.

Since the entrance to the mine was at the base of the mountain, they found themselves at the edge of a forest through which Rin and Lady Nerdanel had come.

They walked into the forest a little, but the mine’s entrance was still within sight when they stopped. The Maia looked down at the young nís with a passive face, “What ails you, little one?” she asked, her voice neither deep nor high-pitched. Neither hostile nor reassuring.

Rin swallowed thickly. This was her chance. “I… I know this might sound hard to believe but… I’m not from here.” She lifted her head and forced herself to look at the Maia in the eye, instantly feeling her eyes watering at the intensity of the light they were emitting. “And I don’t mean from Valinor. I – I mean… from Arda. I don’t know how I got here, or why, but I need to – ”

“So it’s true,” interrupted the Maia, leaning down suddenly with wide eyes, a gasp nigh unnoticeable escaping her lips. She looked at Rin up and down, walking around her as if inspecting her. “I thought it was naught but a rumor.” Her expression held a detached interest, as if she was looking at a test subject or an exotic animal. A shiver ran down Rin’s spine once she realized that.

“What rumor?” Rin asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned around with the Maia, determined not to turn her back on her. She was irritated by the way the Maia was inspecting her.

The Maia didn’t seem to hear her. “Touched by the Void…” she muttered to herself, lost in thought. Rin’s blood froze at the implications of that. She could barely stop herself from jumping into conclusions.

“What do you mean?” Rin demanded, clenching her fists. She stepped towards the Maia, curtesy be damned. Heart hammering in her chest, Rin asked, “Can you help me get out of here?”

Malondo wasn’t listening. Instead, she extended her hand to Rin’s face and gently held her chin up, causing the poor human to gasp in surprise. “Very impressive. Almost imperceptible. I wouldn’t have noticed had you not…” She turned Rin’s head left and right, and then looked at her directly in the eye, but it was as if she was seeing through her. “They’ve done well. Give it more time and…”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Rin asked through gritted teeth, her face flushed from anger and frustration. “What’re you talking about?” When there was no explanation, she yanked her face off her hand and took a step back, glaring at the Maia. Heart at her throat, she managed to breathe out, “Answer me!” After a few seconds, she added a clumsy “…Please.”

As if waking up from a trance, the Maia blinked a few times as she straightened. A solemn expression settled on her face. A flash of something akin to pity, but it was gone the next moment. “Forgive me, little one,” she said, her voice now devoid of any emotion.

A pit began to form in Rin’s stomach. Desperation laced in her voice, she tried again, “What did you mean just now? How did I get here? How do I get out?” She felt like she was losing the Maia, and she didn’t know what else she could do to not miss this opportunity. She felt it slipping through her hands.

Malondo pursed her lips, and cocked her head, “What do you mean? You and Lady Nerdanel came through the forest path, and that’s how you will leave.”

Are you kidding me?! Rin huffed in frustration. She could feel her shyness slipping away moment by moment. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” She was so close to yelling and pulling her hair, recognizing the Maia’s attempts to deflect her questions.

“I don’t, as a matter of fact,” Malondo said, her voice neither cold nor warm. It just… was. “Come,” she concluded, “Lady Nerdanel needs assistance.” Before Rin could say anything else, the Maia turned her back to the young nís and began to walk back the way they came from. It was obvious that regardless of what Rin might say or do, she wasn’t going to get anything else out of her. Rin could feel nausea welling up inside her. She opened her mouth to call out to the Maia, but no sound made it past her lips, words stuck in her suddenly dry throat. Her cheeks and ears tingled as she stood there, fists clenched so much that her knuckles turned white. She must be the Maia of gaslighting!

Tears of frustration began to burn her eyes as confusion took residence in her mind. She bit her lip and shook her head roughly. Get it together, she said to herself. It’s not over yet. Maybe she doesn’t know much, or maybe she isn’t allowed to speak of it. Trying to ground herself with reason, she took deep breaths to calm herself down. It took a lot of time for the feelings of immense disappointment and frustration to dissipate into tolerable intensity. She was angry at herself for missing this opportunity, and yet she also didn’t know what else she could’ve done for a better outcome. As she silently followed the Maia back to the mines, her mind began to turn into a whirlwind with the possible implications of what Malondo had actually said. A rumor… Touched by the Void… Almost imperceptible… they have done well…

“The Void,” she whispered, her eyes staring at her feet, brows furrowed in contemplation. “They… Who’s ‘they’?”

The Maia didn’t so much as look at her during the rest of their stay, almost going so far as refusing to acknowledge her presence altogether. Rin was beginning to think that Malondo was making a conscious effort to ignore her, which only served to anger the human even more. With her efforts in finding out the truth about her presence in Valinor temporarily thwarted, Rin’s resolve to get answers only strengthened.

She was much calmer during the journey back to Tirion, aside from an uneasy feeling in her heart that just wouldn’t go Every once in a while, though, Lady Nerdanel would shoot worried glances at her now too-silent charge, occasionally trying to strike up conversations either to encourage Rin to tell her what was on her mind, or to distract her from whatever was bothering her ever since they visited the mines. The majority of Rin’s answers were half-hearted at best. Though, Rin had to applaud the matriarch for her attempts. She really was trying. Well. For an elf. It wasn’t her fault that this was something she couldn’t fix.

******

Rin had a plan.

It was a very nice, simple plan, if she did say so herself. She would write several petitions until the High Feast. She would just pound the Valar with letter after letter until one of them wrote back to accept her request for audience. This was too important to be explained only via letter, so she would save the details for an actual conversation.

She wasn’t proud of the first few drafts of her letter. For one, she didn’t know how she was supposed to properly address the Valar individually. Also, she still wasn’t confident with her Quenya. Speaking of which, her lessons with Carnistir continued the very day she and Lady Nerdanel came back from Alqualondë. He reminded her of the teachers who would start with the school curriculum right on the first day of school.

But for once, Rin didn’t complain or whine about it. Her encounter with Malondo had fueled her desire to reach out to the Valar even more. Not to mention the fact that she still didn’t come across any other Ainu during her Tirion visits. This didn’t surprise her, but it did feed further into her assumption that the Ainur were either willfully staying ignorant of her or purposefully avoiding her. This only made her want to harass them more. Respectfully, of course. Her patience was wearing rather thin after more than a hundred days of being in Valinor against her will.

And if they didn’t answer, then she just had to attempt to talk to a Vala during the High Feast. She knew for a fact that the majority would be there. Surely, Manwë and Varda wouldn’t not attend to a feast that took place in their halls. Though, Rin snickered inwardly more than once, it would be rather funny if the King and Queen of Arda ran away from me in their own palace. Ainur repellant indeed.

Shortly after their arrival at the palace came the materials that Lady Nerdanel and the Crown Prince Fëanáro had ordered. Accompanying them were Princes Nelyafinwë and Findecáno. The eldest son of Fëanáro had gone back to the Court just before Rin and Lady Nerdanel departed for Alqualondë, and now he was back to assist his parents with the logistics of their project, accompanied by his (best?) friend and cousin. Rin saw their arrival from afar while she was helping Vórilotsë unload the boxes that contained the cleaned mussels and clams.

After taking a whiff, the young chambermaid crinkled her nose in mild confusion, “What is in these boxes?”

Distracted by the newcomers, Rin barely had the mind to absently answer her question. Her curious gaze traveled from Prince Nelyafinwë to the black-haired, pale elf who rode beside him. They were both wearing bedazzling outfits, indicating that they came freshly out of the oven that was the Court. Prince Nelyafinwë’s companion sported his famous golden ribbons weaved intricately into his jet-black locks and elaborate braids, hence why Rin was quick to name him. How long does it take to do his hair, I wonder? That aside, he looked just as radiant as the other prince beside him, both in appearance and in the way he carried himself. An easy smile adorned his face, but it felt more… warm than calculated. Talking to the eldest son of Fëanáro, his movements slightly lacked gravitas but overflowed in genuineness. He’s like the Sun, Rin couldn’t help but think. It was also rare to see Prince Nelyafinwë this relaxed. It was a small detail, but Rin could tell from his posture and constant smile. It reminded her of her own best friends and relatives. Their memory pricked at her heart in a way she physically flinched ever so slightly. She grabbed the box she was carrying tightly to her chest as if trying to hide her ache.

But just as she turned away from the gates to carry the boxes to Lady Nerdanel’s workshop, a shout made her look back to see another elf riding to the front like an arrow released from the bow. Rin’s brows furrowed in confusion. This elf, although his features were so alike to that of Prince Findecáno’s, didn’t have any ribbons in his hair – although his braids were nigh identical to the eldest son of Ñolofinwë’s. He looked much younger too, if such a thing was possible with elves. Rin was getting better and better at telling ages apart with this folk to a certain degree, though there still were moments when she was mistaken.

It took her a few seconds to gather that this Elda could be Argon. Arakáno, she corrected herself internally. Argon was a name given to the elf posthumously. Another possibility was Turukáno, of course. But she highly doubted the second option when she witnessed how the young elf leaped off from his horse to run to the Ambarussa, who had come down the stairs to greet him enthusiastically. Judging by the way they interacted, Rin guessed that they were close in age, only with Arakáno slightly towering over the twins. When the eldest sons joined them, Rin saw that though he had caught up with Findecáno, he had yet to surpass Nelyafinwë’s height. He’s in the middle of a growth spurt, maybe, Rin thought with a chuckle, turning away from the scene once again to get back to work.

Later that day, Rin decided to help Vórilotsë and the other servants with hanging laundries. With the approaching High Feast, everyone got quite busy all of a sudden, Carnistir included. Their knitting sessions had to be put on hold so that he could focus on his cross-stitching. Though, he was rather adamant on not foregoing their Quenya lessons. While Rin appreciated her teacher’s dedication to her education (she was beginning to think that this was a Fëanorian thing), she was rather annoyed that she wasn’t allowed to “skip school”.

Regardless, she was now hanging freshly washed sheets at the rear palace with the other servants instead of bantering with Carnistir. At least she wasn’t alone with her thoughts. Time well spent, she thought, it beats spiraling in self-doubt. The constant soft chatter of Vórilotsë was a nice distraction.  She could also hear the voice of the Ambarussa and Arakáno in the distance, who had gone for a hunt in the forest and were now coming back with their trophies, which were a couple of stags and four birds. They were carrying spears as well as bows and arrows. Rin hoped beyond hope that they wouldn’t pass anywhere near the laundry. It had taken quite a while for the servants to wash and hang them all, all the while preparing rooms for the princes’ cousins.

Rin and Vórilotsë were in the middle of a discussion about the preparations for the High Feast when the princes drew near. As they grew quiet, they started to hear what the princes were saying.

“Did you see how I threw the spear?” exclaimed Arakáno excitedly. “My brother taught me that technique. I’ve been practicing but this is the first time I actually used it during a hunt!”

“It was impressive, yes,” said one of the Ambarussa. Pityafinwë?

“But unnecessary,” added the other twin. This must be Telufinwë, then. Then again, it could be the other way around. Rin hadn’t spent enough time around the twins to tell them apart.

“What do you mean unnecessary?!” Arakáno demanded, outraged. “I took the deer down with a single throw!”

“That may be true – ” began Pityafinwë.

“But you also forewent your only weapon,” continued Telufinwë.

“Had you missed, you wouldn’t have been able to chase the deer.”

“No second shots – ”

“The arrow is faster to recalibrate – ”

“And it covers more ground.” At that point, Rin gave up.

There was a petulant grunt to counter these points. “I wouldn’t have missed the shot anyway,” Arakáno grumbled. As the wind swept the sheets and tablecloths, shifting them slightly left and right, Rin was able to see the youngest son of Ñolofinwë pouting in a playful manner, trying to mask his annoyance no doubt. “I would like to see you do it in your first try!”

“It was a spectacular shot,” the twins begrudgingly agreed.

“Riiight?” Needless to say, Arakáno was rather pleased with himself. The sound of the spear swishing in the air came to Rin’s ears. They were close by. “I can teach you, if you want.” Oh, now he was being smug about it.

Rin bit her lip to stop herself from chuckling at the adolescents and their antics as they enthusiastically began to compare the teachings of their respective brothers. For the twins, it was mostly Princes Turcafinwë and Nelyafinwë, whereas for Arakáno it was his eldest brother Findecáno. We have a bit of a hero-worshipping situation here, I’m guessing. She rolled her eyes in fond irritation as the youngest son of Fingolfin began to play with the spear, spinning it and doing mock-throwing stances. The twins cheered and tried to imitate him.

It would have stayed adorable had they not been dangerously close to the laundry and the servants who were trying to hang them. She was about to call out to the princes to be careful when there was a loud sound of ripping cloth pierced the air, followed by a yelp from Vórilotsë as she landed on her hind. Arakáno’s spear had pierced the tablecloth, barely missing the young chambermaid who had been standing behind it. The wooden pole fell as he hurriedly yanked it off, pulling the rope on which the laundry hung with it. Heart in her mouth, Rin tried to side-step the tablecloths that were now all falling to the ground, trying to rush to the frightened chambermaid’s side.

“Lottie! Are you hurt?”

“N-no. I’m fine. Not injured,” Rin crouched next to her, eyes scanning the nís’ body for injuries. “Really, Rin. I’m alright.” She said with a bashful chuckle. She hurried to get back up with Rin following suit.

“If you say so,” murmured Rin. As they dusted their aprons and skirts, they saw the twins and Arakáno rushing over to them, the lattermost adorning a faint blush in his cheeks and ears.

Rin raised a brow and lightly placed her hands on her hips. Her expression screamed “I believe you have something to say to her.”

“I apologize for my recklessness,” mumbled Arakáno.

“I-It’s alright, my Prince,” replied Vórilotsë meekly, still a little shaken.

Seeing that she wasn’t hurt, the young prince sighed in relief, and a boyish smile appeared on his face. “If that’s it, then we’ll be off!” The twins were already turning away from the scene.

Rin blinked in confusion. That’s it? “Hold on, hold on!” She walked up to them, ignoring Vórilotsë’s whispered warnings. “You almost killed Lottie,” The little flinches from all of the young princes at the use of the word “kill” didn’t escape her eye. She continued, “and as if that wasn’t enough, you ruined the laundry line.” She was fine with pranks, or chaos in general. But to her, this wasn’t a simple prank or an accident. He had been playing around with a potentially dangerous weapon like it was nothing and had almost injured someone with it. Not only was he dismissing the fright he caused, but he was also ignoring all the hard work of the servants.

The twins and Arakáno half-turned to her with surprised expressions on their faces. “She said herself she wasn’t injured,” said Ñolofinwë’s youngest, cocking his head. “And I already apologized. What else is there to do?”

Rin scoffed, “‘What else’? Well, you can help us gather the muddy laundry off the floor, for one,” It had rained early in the morning, so the grass was still damp. Earth stained the white tablecloths and sheets easily. She gestured at the pole lying on the ground, “And then set that pole upright again.” Maybe Granny Ëarsil’s rubbing off on me.

It was Arakáno’s turn to blink in confusion now. His shyness seemed to have disappeared. His honest, perturbed expression told Rin that he was probably used to getting away with a lot of things, being the youngest of the family and all. His puppy eyes could’ve fooled anyone. But not Rin the human. The twins, meanwhile, were smiling slyly. Their eyes travelled between Rin and Arakáno. They seemed to be interested in the outcome of this kerfuffle between their friend and their mother’s ward.

“Are you seriously asking me to do your work for you?” Arakáno asked, a pout forming in his face as he straightened his posture.

“You’re lucky I’m not asking you to wash the ruined cloths,” Rin retorted. “Helping us gather them is the least you could do for nearly killing Lottie and frightening her!”

“Stop saying that. She’s fine! She said so herself, didn’t she?” he exclaimed, outrage more and more apparent by the second. He abruptly turned to the unsure-looking chambermaid. “I’m asking again. Are you injured in any way?”

Vórilotsë’s eyes darted from Rin to the prince as she desperately tried to think of the appropriate thing to say. “I… I’m not injured, my Prince, but – ”

“See?” Arakáno lifted his chin up in challenge. Out of the corner of her eye, they could all see the other servants silently gathering around. This agitated the young prince even more. Rin could see the blush returning to his cheeks. He turned to Vórilotsë again. “Do you require any compensation?” he asked haughtily.

The poor chambermaid clearly didn’t know what to say to that. Having all the attention on herself so suddenly had stunned her into silence.

Rin’s brow twitched in annoyance. Do all elves spoil their children, or is it just royalty? “You’re missing the point, my Prince,” she said the honorifics through gritted teeth. “Life isn’t as cheap as a half-hearted apology. And neither is hard work.” She nodded at the laundry on the ground. “You have no idea how long it took for the servants to wash all those sheets hanging from the line you just collapsed. And now they’ve got to do it all over again. You may have plenty of leisure time, but we are all on a rather tight schedule.”

“Rin – ” Vórilotsë began, but Arakáno cut her off.

“You’re exaggerating,” he rolled his eyes dismissively. “I’m a prince,” he added, making his tone as harsh as possible to put that definite statement forth. He eyed her up and down, “You can’t make me do anything.”

Rin barked out a condescending laugh, “True, I can’t. But hiding behind status and physique to get out of situations isn’t very valiant of you, don’t you think?” Her expression became serious, “That’s not how accountability works, little prince.”

She heard her mistake right after she said it. But alas, it was too late. Ah, she thought, now I’ve done it. I pushed too far. Who was she to teach manners to an elven prince anyway? She felt her heart getting squeezed by an invisible hand as she suddenly remembered her position in this household. He was a guest, too. And when had all these people gathered around them anyway?!

I just embarrassed a prince in front of a bunch of people .

Arakáno’s face had already contorted into an almost petulant fury. He was struggling to keep his composure. He opened his mouth to say something but clopped it close immediately after. It was clear that he hadn’t thought past his apology. He hadn’t expected any resistance in the first place.

Rin saw the exact moment he came to a decision in his eyes.

But his response was still as quick as it was unexpected. He stomped towards a fallen sheet, picked the muddy cloth up, and threw it straight to her face. Rin almost stumbled and fell from the sheer shock of the action. It was also rather hard for her to gather a piece of cloth that was way taller than her in her arms, but she made do.

“There,” he said. “Happy now?”

This brat...!

Before she could say or do anything else, the young prince turned his back and stomped off towards the twins, who had been trying to hide their smiles by biting their lips and inner cheeks. He grabbed their arms to drag them back into the palace with him.

Silence reigned at the backyard of the palace for the next few minutes. No one moved. Rin was too embarrassed to look around, so she subtly hid her face in the bundle of sheets she was holding in her arms. Then, she heard Vórilotsë shuffling towards her and pick up the parts of the sheet that were close to the ground, her eyes wide. Rin wasn’t any better. The only difference was that she was also silently fuming. Both at herself (for her stupidity) and at the prince.

Did I just pick a fight with a prince?

“You just picked a fight with Prince Arakáno,” Vórilotsë confirmed her thoughts unknowingly, looking at where the princes had been moments ago as if she too couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

Finally out of her reverie, Rin gave out a tired sigh. “Yeeeah.” She didn’t want to think about the consequences right now. Turning to the chambermaid, she said dryly, “A ‘thank you’ would be nice right about now.” She now had to avoid not one, but two princes.

“I’ll treat you to shortcakes next time we’re in Tirion.”

“Deal.”

******

Rin was beginning to lose sleep over her petition letters. She never thought there would come a day when she missed sending e-mails to higher-ups and professors, which used to stress the hell out of her. The fact that she was trying to reach out to these angel-like beings was ever present at the back of her mind. What could be more stressful than that?

With the materials for the lantern arriving one by one, things were getting more and more hectic in the House of Fëanáro. That only left an hour or two to work on the letters. At one point, she stopped fretting over them and just sent them through Valinor’s equivalent of the post-office after consulting Carnistir about what she should write on the letter envelope. Accompanying Vórilotsë to Tirion was easy enough. Deflecting her questioning gaze as she handed over multiple letters was not so easy, though. She refused to elaborate on the letters, only saying that she wanted to ask a Vala for audience.

Her nigh-sleepless days continued as she waited for an answer with a clenched heart. Carnistir had assured her that she would get an answer within the next ten days earliest. They, too, aimed to finish up any duty they could before the High Feast. Or so Carnistir had said.

Twenty days passed, and there was no reply.

From none of the Valar.

She had sent a letter to everyone she thought could help with her situation. The list consisted of Yavanna, Aulë (since Malondo was his Maia), Námo, Vairë, Varda and Manwë. She had been rather hopeful of Námo and Manwë, since they allegedly knew everything that was going on in Arda. She would’ve sent one to Ulmo (given the fact that her last memory from her world was that of the sea and her drowning), but Carnistir and Lady Nerdanel had both told her that the Vala rarely came to Valinor. She didn’t know if he was in any way related to the cause of her presence in this world, but she also couldn’t forget the feeling of being drawn to the sea from her time in Alqualondë.

“That’s odd,” Carnistir commented with furrowed brows when she mentioned the fact that she had had no replies. They could only meet up in the palace library nowadays. “At least one of them should’ve answered by now.”

Disappointing, but not surprising, Rin thought with a sigh. “I don’t know what else to do other than wait until the High Feast at this point.”

He pursed his lips in contemplation. Then a small, mischievous smile appeared on his face as he lifted his head and met her eyes. “What if you sent them under my name?”

Rin recoiled, “I can’t have you read them – ”

“Who says anything about reading them?” Carnistir rolled his eyes. “Though I still don’t get why you don’t want me to check your grammar and such.” He leaned in, “No, I meant putting your letters in my envelopes, with my name and family insignia and all. That way, they would have to read the letters, at least.”

“You would do this for me?” Rin asked with wide eyes, incredulous.

Carnistir shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s not that big of a deal, you know.” He cleared his throat, “I was in need of fresh supplies for my project anyway, so I was going to go to Tirion at some point.”

Rin moved without thinking. She leapt from her seat and jumped on Carnistir to hug him. The poor elf gave out a startled yelp at the sudden contact.

“H-hey…! What are you – oof!”

“Ah, thank you! Thank you so much, Moryo!” she shouted, unable to keep her wide smile off her face as she squeezed the life out of him. “You’re the best!”

Having gone stiff on his seat, Carnistir’s arms flailed around for a moment, not only because he didn’t know where to put them, but also because he almost lost his balance when her weight suddenly added onto the chair, dipping it backwards. “Watch it!” he exclaimed, trying to steady them both. “Gah!” she was still unused to her strength in some respects, so she may or may not have really started to suffocate him. “Alright alright, I get it! You’re welcome. Now please let go?” his voice was getting progressively more choked up.

“Oh, sorry. Heh.” Rin stepped back abruptly. At the sudden loss of weight, the chair fell forward to its original position with a thwack! The poor prince almost stumbled forward. Rin chuckled awkwardly when he looked up with a huff, his ruddy face already turning red. Scratching the back of her neck, she said, “Let me guess, the Noldor are not big on hugs?”

“Not unless you’re an elfling,” Carnistir cleared his throat, “Or you’re with your spouse in private.” These were creatures who could interact with each other’s souls. Can one come any closer to someone else than that? A hug would be superficial and needless for an adult in that sense, when you can embrace each other’s souls. At least, that’s what Rin assumed to be the case.

“Uh-huh…” mumbled Rin.

Fuck. Way to go, Rin.

“I-It’s just that where I come from, hugs are normal among friends and family,” she tried to explain.

“Figured as much. It’s fine. You didn’t know. Memory loss and all.” Carnistir said, waving his hand dismissively. He was equally eager to put this behind them.

When Rin finally sat back down, they resumed their lessons. By the end of it, the lack of homework from Carnistir didn’t escape Rin’s eye.

“No homework this time?” she raised a brow. “I guess I’m just that good now.”

Carnistir rolled his eyes at her false bravado. “Don’t you start getting cocky. Lord Manwë and Lord Aulë will come here in a few days to check up on the preparations for the High Feast. To see our contributions and all. I need to finish my own work so that it’s ready for submission, so I won’t have time to check your writing.”

Rin’s eyes widened in surprise. She leaned back on her seat, suddenly at a loss of what to do at the prospect of the opportunity she had been looking for practically coming to her feet. “I see,” she could only mumble, her eyes drifting away in thought. After a moment of silence, she asked, “Will you still be able to send my letters?”

The fourth son of Fëanáro nodded, “I’m sure you still have the drafts. Write it again and I’ll send them to whoever you want me to tomorrow.”

Rin smiled, “Thanks again, Moryo. I really appreciate it.”

“What are friends for?” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t even a request.

She didn’t know if he was even aware of how much he had helped her since her arrival. Not only had he offered his friendship (a bit unconventionally, but still), but he had also taught her how to knit and helped her with the Tengwar. She really should think of a way to repay his kindness somehow.

“So put your mind at ease and just go rest,” he continued with a retort. “You look awful.”

Aaand there it is. The offensive straight forwardness. Regardless, the air did suddenly feel lighter after his blunt remark. The gloom in her heart somewhat dissipated.

“What, you mean the rings under my eyes?” she batted her eyes at him. “It’s a fashion statement. Keep up with the trends, Moryo.”

He snorted, “And what’s this new style of yours called? ‘Shades of Purple’”? 

Rin tapped her chin in mock-contemplation. “I was thinking more in the lines of ‘sleep-deprived hybrid’, but yours sounds much better.”

******

Rin did try to heed Carnistir’s advice on getting some sleep. She was partially successful, too. Handing him her letters and putting them in the envelopes together helped set her mind at ease somewhat. But she couldn’t keep Malondo’s words out of her mind. Not to mention her blatant unwillingness to help her in any way, even going so far as pretending not to know anything. Her whole encounter with the Maia haunted her whenever she lied down to sleep. She couldn’t shake this feeling of dread that was looming in the horizon, waiting for the day Rin would have to confront it in earnest.

Days were getting more and more hectic in the House of Fëanáro. Seeing how distracted and exhausted Rin had become lately, Lady Nerdanel cut her workshop hours short to give the young nís some time to recuperate. She would say that she needed to discuss the designs for the lanterns with her husband, which was true enough. Though, whenever she dismissed Rin, insisting that she needed rest, a look of regret passed the matriarch’s features. Due to the preparations, she couldn’t take care of her young charge the way she wanted to. The best she could do right now was to make sure Rin was physically fine.

Which she was. She ate and bathed regularly and spent time with people around her. If not for her exhausted eyes and faraway look on her face when she thought no one was watching, Rin looked and behaved “normal” enough.

On the day of the inspection, though, Rin was particularly jittery. Not just because she was excited about the two Valar coming here, but also because she felt a sense of foreboding deep in her heart, battling with the feeble light of hope. It had been seven days since Carnistir had sent her letters under his family’s insignia, and those were left unanswered as well. That only left a direct confrontation with the King of Arda, and boy was she nervous.

But she also wanted to go home. Her life was waiting for her. She had missed her family and her friends terribly. Lady Nerdanel reminded her of her own mother day by day. But she also felt the difference between how she treated her and the sons of Fëanáro. The fact that she wasn’t her child settled deep in her bones, making her similarities to Rin’s own mother even more painful to notice. Sometimes, she avoided even looking at the matriarch when such thoughts and emotions overwhelmed her. The same could be said whenever she witnessed the Fëanorians interact with each other. She had a sibling, too. Back in her own world. And she wished now more than anything else to be able to talk to her, rant to/about her, get into fights with her, or share movies, books and songs together.

This is no time to break, she psyched herself up repeatedly. Not when you’re this close to getting home. She knew it was a dangerous thing to do, but she bet everything on this day. If anyone could help her, it was Manwë. She didn’t want to think of the alternative outcome. That wasn’t an option. Couldn’t be an option. It was quite possible that everything hinged on this interaction.

They were supposed to close the workshop early today, to prepare for the Valar’s arrival. Lady Nerdanel had Rin and the other servants empty it by carrying all the finished and unfinished projects of pottery and sculpture to an adjacent hall and Prince Nelyafinwë’s own workshop, where they would be kept temporarily until the lanterns were done. The prince himself helped them with the arrangements. Needless to say, there were going to be a lot of lanterns. The lotus petals made of mother of pearls were supposed to be crafted and arranged as the base so that the lanterns floated on water of the stream that flowed gently downhill from the slopes of Taniquetil, the colorful gems within the artificial flowers illuminating the way up to the Halls of Manwë and Varda during the festival. Starlight above, and starlight below. That was the concept, at least.

So Rin, along with other servants and apprentices, were to carry the other projects to available spaces. These projects included Rin’s own amateur attempts at pottery. They weren’t good, per se, but it was fun, and the only thing that she felt safe picking up during her apprenticeship at Lady Nerdanel’s workshop. Mainly consisting of cups, simple vases and plates as wall-ornaments, the small amount of pottery that Rin had crafted required only two trips to her chambers. But the others, made mainly by Lady Nerdanel, were bigger and heavier.

She was carrying the last vase to Prince Nelyafinwë’s workshop when she saw Carnistir and his brothers Curufin and the Ambarussa ascending the stairs. The vase was rather a big piece, so she had to strain her neck to look at the source of the sound ahead of her. The fourth son of Fëanáro called out to her and swiftly came to her side.

Looking at him up and down, Rin commented dryly, “Well, you look more bedazzled than usual.”

The prince rolled his eyes, “You and your back-handed compliments.” He looked out the window. “Besides, you kind of have to dress lavishly if you have two Valar as guests.”

Rin felt her blood drain from her face. “What?” she demanded quietly.

Carnistir pursed his lips. “They came earlier than we expected. I wanted to come and alert you, but we had to greet them at the palace garden, so I had to rush downstairs with my brothers.” He wasn’t aware of her plan to intercept the Valar during their visit, but he did know how much she wanted to talk to them.

“B-but… I would’ve seen them.” Rin whispered. “I came and went along the first floor all morning…”

Carnistir winced, “My father took them to his own workshop. We were asked to bring whatever we can there as well.” Fëanáro's workshop. Forges. Adjacent to the main palace, but not quite inside.

With the materials for the lanterns stacked inside Lady Nerdanel’s workshop, Rin had thought…

The sound of the vase breaking as it made contact with the marble palace floor echoed through the corridor. Without her noticing, it had slipped through Rin’s numb fingers. She could barely breathe. It can’t be this simple, she thought repeatedly. It shouldn’t be this simple. Barely noticing Carnistir calling out to her anxiously, she turned to him again, holding his arm. She also didn’t notice how he flinched upon seeing the intense, almost frantic look in her eyes. “Where are they?” she croaked. “Moryo, where are they? Are they gone?”

“T-they were heading towards the gates,” he uttered, eyes wide. His eyes traveled to the window that overlooked the palace entrance. “Nelyo, Mother and Father were seeing them off – ”  And just like that, in that brief moment when he took his eyes off her, Rin was gone. “Rin?!”

But the young nís was already by the stairs, descending them as if she was flying. She felt her ankle twist as she landed at the bottom, almost making her fall. Pain seared through her right ankle, but adrenaline was too strong for her to acknowledge it just yet. Uttering a curse through gritted teeth, she trudged on, ignoring the calls of Carnistir, who was running behind her. “Rin, wait!”

She bolted out of the palace gates and leaped down the stairs, bolting like an arrow released from its bow. Her tunnel vision barely allowed her to notice Lady Nerdanel and Crown Prince Fëanáro going back inside the forges and Prince Nelyafinwë slowly walking back towards the palace. He noticed Rin booking it towards the gates at full speed, passing him by without seeing him. “Rin?” he asked, stopping abruptly in astonishment. Her motives unknown to him, he made no movements to stop her. “Nelyo, stop her before she makes a mistake!” he heard Carnistir yell all too late.

Reaching for the gates, she stopped the keepers from closing them entirely. She didn’t even have to scream at them to do it. Upon seeing the nearly unhinged nís running straight towards them, the message went across successfully and thus they hurriedly opened the gates further for her to pass. For that Rin barely had the presence of mind to be grateful. Panting hard, she couldn’t thank them as she breezed past them.

And there he was. With all his glory, Manwë stood just outside the gates. He was taller than every elf Rin had seen thus far, but barely imposing. His regal robes were the color of the sky ranging from day-time blue to nighttime ultramarine, with a collar adorned with white feathers. His white hair flowed down to his waist like a ray of light, adding onto the general glow around him. It almost hurt her eyes to gaze upon him. He was beautiful.

Aulë wasn’t with him. It was possible that he was still at the forges with Lady Nerdanel and Crown Prince Fëanáro. But Rin didn’t care about such details. The Ainu in front of her was all she needed.

“MANWË!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, ignoring the possibility of anyone witnessing the scene. No “Lord”, no “King”. Just his name. For he wasn’t her king. And neither was she, his subject.

The king of the Ainu stopped in his tracks and slowly turned halfway towards where the obnoxious scream came from. His electric blue eyes, slightly wide with surprise, landed on Rin, making her breath get caught in her throat. She came to an abrupt stop. Now that she had his attention, finally, Rin stood in front of him a few feet away, panting and sweating. She tried to swallow and take deep breaths so that she could speak.

For a moment, everything around them was still. It was as if time had stopped. Even the musical sound of Nature was gone. With all external voice gone, Rin could only hear her own breaths and frantic heartbeat. The lack of noise sent a chill down her spine, reminding her what Malondo had said. Touched by the Void.

As she struggled to catch her breath, Rin saw, as if in slow motion, the way Manwë’s gentle gaze shifted into that of an empty one. His features gave nothing away save from a look of mild but obvious distaste. It was barely there, but Rin saw it and flinched. He recognized her. She saw in his eyes that he knew exactly who and what she was, and that he wasn’t particularly thrilled that she was here. The supposedly gentlest being in Arda, who knew no concept of evil, was looking at her as if she was the most unnatural and unwanted thing in this world.

I could use this, Rin thought after a momentary shock. She willed herself to ignore how small and singular she felt. She frantically tried to gather her thoughts, getting ready to explain herself. She didn’t want to be here either. Surely, their interests aligned.

She opened her mouth without having an ounce of idea about what she wanted to say. An introduction, a plea, a demand, a command… Anything. Her breath caught in her throat. She took a deep breath and tried again, taking a small, timid step towards the King of Arda.

But the king of the skies and everything beneath turned away from her with one, fluid motion, and soundlessly disappeared right in front of her eyes.  

Chapter Text

For a few moments that felt like eternity, Rin just stood there, her chest heaving from exertion and adrenaline. A small frown was beginning to form on her face as she stared at where the King of the Ainur had been merely seconds ago, while she felt her heart plummet to her stomach. She blinked in confusion. It seemed like her body was able to understand something instinctually, but her mind didn’t want to catch up yet.

The silence from her interaction with Manwë was beginning to pressure her ears and her head.

I… I don’t understand, she shook her head, casting her eyes downward. I… I don’t… Why? She found it extremely difficult to form words. Her mind was drawing blank as if it was too afraid to break the silence of the Void.

And then, the world unmuted itself for her. Sounds all around her came crushing down, assaulting her like the first time she visited the palace garden. She could hear the buzzing streets of Tirion just beyond the end of the path, its people engrossed in their daily lives. She could hear the voices of the servants walking and talking in hushed tones at the gates. Somewhere behind her, there were two sets of feet running, getting closer. Someone was shouting a familiar name.

It was only when she lifted her gaze up towards Tirion and witnessed the world’s indifference that she truly understood.

No one will help me.

This time, very slowly, she bowed her head, her eyes wide. She felt her – no, Eӓrien’s – mouth open, but nothing came out except for a sharp, croaking sob. The alien, elvish voice had never sounded so raw, so human like it did now. It sent a chill down her spine, because it wasn’t her voice, and yet at the same time, it was. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the elves around the gates, stopping to look but not approaching her. They stayed together in small clusters while she stood alone in front of the gates. She felt an intense tension grip her body upon noticing their scrutiny, nailing her stiff to the spot. Their strange, grey eyes observed her with a mixture of curiosity and mild worry; their heads moved in that uncanny, bird-like elegant motion. She stuck out like a sore thumb thanks to her little spiel with Manwë, but never in her life had she felt so insignificant and worthless as this moment.

I’m alone.

As if to confirm this vital realization, her ears began to ring, their screams muting everything else out. Cold sweat slowly began to trickle down her temples as she desperately tried to fill the ever-growing emptiness in her chest with air.

I’m all alone.

A small, eerily calm part of her mind knew what was happening to her the moment she felt her fingers go numb and her legs tremble. And though it wasn’t yet drowned out by the tsunami of panicked thoughts, it was still powerless to urge her to move this body of hers away from the gates and prying eyes. She watched herself drop onto her knees in an odd fascination. In those blissful few seconds of numb shock, she blinked and looked around with a passive expression on her face.

This surreal disconnection proved to be rather difficult to sustain when it was getting harder and harder to breathe, unfortunately. The more she struggled, the more she became aware that she was indeed limited – no, dependent – on this nearly hyperventilating body. That she was connected to it somehow.

Trapped in it.

I can’t get out, was all she could think of as she lifted her trembling hands to fumble around her shirt, nails clawing at her chest and neck. Get out, get out, get out, get out –

She was startled out of her ever-escalating thoughts when a hand tentatively touched her shoulder. Moryo’s face entered her peripheral vision, his eyes wide and his face unusually pale. He was saying something to her, but she couldn’t hear him. Seeing him kneeling right in front of her, so uncannily human and inhuman at the same time; feeling the gentle weight of his hand on her shoulder, physical and there, made her flinch back violently.

“No…” she sobbed between gasps. No no no no….

Her vision was starting to blacken around the edges. Moryo was shouting at something behind her, panic evident in his face. Her heart was beating like it was going to rip itself out of her chest. No amount of air was enough, for her chest felt empty and heavy at the same time. She was falling apart, and she was afraid that when she did, there would be nothing left of her but emptiness.

This is not real, she thought desperately. She closed her eyes tightly to block out everything, including the worried elf in front of her. Tears fell freely down her cheeks for the first time since her arrival, and she could now taste her pain too, all solidified and taken shape through this body. Her hands came up to her ears. When she felt the pointy tips, she roughly pressed her palms to cover them. Not real!

Even though she wanted to throw her head back in an attempt to gulp some much-needed air to her lungs, her body began to close in on itself, bending down into an almost fetal position. Her forehead touched the grass as she opened her mouth to scream, but it came out as nothing more than wheezes and sobs that racked her to the core. She was taut from head to toe as she tried to willfully block anything and everything out, desperately chanting the same thing in her mind over and over again.

Not real.

As if the universe wasn’t mocking her enough, she felt a new pair of hands holding either side of her shoulders to try to coerce her to sit more upright. Her body resisted without her control. But whoever it was, they weren’t going to let her delude herself. A timid, non-intrusive touch of another mind penetrated her panic then, gently calling a name. Not her name, but a name.

“Rin.”

She barely had the peace of mind to figure out that it was Prince Nelyafinwë speaking to her through ósanwë. When talking and touching weren’t enough to calm her, they must have resorted to this method.

This proved to be the last thing the poor human needed. The mental connection contradicted with her very nature, with all she had known, making her jerk away from a contact that wasn’t there. Shouldn’t be there. She physically backed away in a frenzy, shaking her head. Her eyes still closed, she tried to scream. Her body could only conjure breathy, pathetic groans.

The tentative touch of Prince Nelyafinwë recoiled away in shock, having felt a fraction of her delirium in his attempt to calm her down. Unbeknownst to the human in Eӓrien’s body, he had caught a glimpse of her internal screams, the overwhelming panic, and the unrecognizable words.

Rin barely noticed it when an arm circled around her shoulders, while another looped under her knees. The tautness of her body slowly dissipated as she felt more and more lightheaded from lack of air, making the job of whoever was carrying her easier. Thoughts were leaving her head, but her primal instinct to survive, to endure, still tied her to this body, to this world. It seemed like her body had already decided what her reality was. Without daring to open her eyes and thus admit defeat, she unconsciously clutched at the shirt of her carrier. Her fingers weakly closed in on the fabric, making a fist.

She didn’t know where they were taking her, and she wasn’t going to remember how she even got there the next time she willingly opened her eyes. All she knew was that wherever it was, it wasn’t going to be home.

******

She woke up to the strong smell of liquid herbs burning through her nostrils. Her nose scrunched in distaste as she blinked her eyes open in annoyance. It took her a while to figure out where she was, and who the people looming around her bed were.

Oh.

I’m still here.

At least she was a little calmer now, having exhausted herself with a breakdown that she should’ve seen coming from a mile off. Though, she could still feel her heart clenching ever so slightly upon waking up here.

Again.

She was at the healer’s ward. The familiar face of Winyavílë was hovering above her face, far enough to give her space if needed, but still close to observe any symptom of discomfort she would display. The small, stinking bottle in his hand told her that he was the culprit of her rude awakening. His expression was as passive as ever. The few rebellious strands of golden hair had not managed to free themselves from his intricate braids yet. The day must’ve just started for him.

How much time has passed since I was brought here anyway?

His calm demeanor and (generally) gentle conduct of his craft along with his soft facial features and golden hair reminded her of something. But what? It was at the tip of her tongue, she could feel it. But it wouldn’t come to her. Right now, her mind was blissfully empty, and her heart was conveniently too light to care. Since the echoes of her breakdown and its cause remained in her memory, Rin was sure that this numbness would soon fade along with her physical weariness.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few other healers walking around silently. One quick skim through the infirmary told her that she was the only patient there. Was she the cause of all of this, then? Colleagues for back-up? Whatever for?

But this wasn’t all. Right behind Winyavílë, there stood Carnistir and Nelyafinwë, each wearing their own brand of “worried looks”. With his arms crossed and a scowl marring his face, Carnistir looked confused, and maybe a little afraid. His eldest brother looked less intense, but more contemplative.

“Glad to see you come to your senses,” said Prince Nelyafinwë, giving out a small sigh of relief. “You had us worried.”

“Worried?” Carnistir scoffed. Ignoring the warning look his brother was giving him, he continued to say, “That would be an understatement.” Rin couldn’t help but smile a little over how aggressively he worried about his friend. It was rather cute. “What in the name of Eru happened, Rin? We thought you were wounded at first, but there wasn’t anything on you – ”

“She has a sprained ankle,” Winyavílë interjected calmly as he took an icepack from another healer and carefully put it on Rin’s elevated foot. It was already bandaged and lifted by extra pillows, much to her surprise.

“Apart from a sprained ankle,” Carnistir corrected himself, rolling his eyes in irritation. He huffed, “And that is hardly any reason for someone to start struggling to breathe.”

“Maybe I have a very delicate disposition,” Rin suggested, deadpan.

The blank looks all around her told Rin that her joke didn’t quite land.

“Now’s not the time to be cheeky, Rin,” muttered Carnistir through gritted teeth, his hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “This whole situation is odd, and you know it.”

“Which begs the question,” Prince Nelyafinwë took over, his words deliberately slow to stop Carnistir from getting more anxious, “whether something happened between you and High King Manwë.”

Silence reigned for the next few moments. Rin couldn’t help but sit up against the pillows, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed like a cornered animal. But one look at the elves told her that they were genuine in their level-headed interrogation. They were treating her ailment as if it were a physical wound, not a psychological one. And when physical wounds are in question, it is imperative to be straightforward and empirical. Did they seriously not know, or were they trying to make sure it was pure psychological?

She looked away to hide her frustration and quietly spat out, “He didn’t do anything.” And that’s the problem. Though, even the slightest possibility of the King of Arda knowingly harming a creature of this world must have been an absurd notion to the peaceful denizens of Valinor. Up until this morning, Rin had thought the same. She had genuinely thought that he would listen to her, understand her, and help her get back to her own life, back to where she belonged.

There was a flash of recognition in Prince Nelyafinwë’s eyes upon hearing her answer. While it wasn’t much of an explanation, it confirmed what they had all been suspecting. Hers was a matter of fëa, not hroa.

Which, Rin supposed, was half true.

After wrecking her tired brain for a few moments trying to think about what she could say to explain herself to others, Rin decided to say nothing at all on the matter. I don’t owe them anything. There was anger deeply seated in her heart towards these people now, at how carefree they lived in their perfect little paradise, blissfully unaware of the struggles of the rest of the world and what she was going through. She knew these feelings were unfair and unjustified – especially when it came to the two brothers in front of her, who had been nothing but friendly towards her – but she was pent up with frustration and despair. At that moment, she just wanted to scream at all of them to “fuck off”.

Instead, she turned her laboriously crafted empty gaze towards the brothers. “So, you saw everything?” Her instinct was to turn the tables on them a little.

Carnistir’s eyes narrowed at her evading their question with her own question. He was not going to let her drop the subject so easily had it not been for his eldest brother raising his hand to stop him just as he opened his mouth. From the flat look Rin was giving them, Prince Nelyafinwë seemed to have gathered that she didn’t want to talk about whatever had happened to her at the gates.

Good call.

“We saw King Manwë will himself away, and shortly after, you… collapsed,” Prince Nelyafinwë clarified, his tone turning uncertain at the end. “More and more people were gathering around the gates, and I had a feeling that you wouldn’t like to be the center of attention at that moment if you could help it, so I took the liberty to bring you here.”

Rin’s eyes drifted away as she nodded absent-mindedly. It must’ve been quite the show. She supposed it was way too early for the Valinorian elves to be well-versed in mental ailments.

And why would they? The dead were rehabilitated in the Halls of Mandos (in theory), and those who lived were residing in paradise. Besides, the Gardens of Lórien were apparently enough to heal all sorts of mental, spiritual and physical hurts. Well, she thought of Míriel, almost all of them. It was a place overseen by the Valar and their Maiar, not elves. Rin doubted elves were ever left to deal with their distress completely by themselves, without the assistance of the Ainur. If so, how much understanding and empathy could a mortal get from a timeless, truly unkillable, angelic being?

Rin’s lips curled up in a bitter smile, I don’t think I can even set foot into the Gardens anyway. If Manwë forsook me, I doubt either Irmo or Estë would ever willingly help me. She remembered how Lady Nerdanel’s requests for a Maia to look at Rin’s concussion had gotten rejected.

Her eyes widened upon thinking about the matriarch. She was suddenly reminded of something very, very important that she had overlooked during all the commotion. The elves in the healer’s wing all witnessed her rueful expression turn into a horrified one.

“Oh,” Rin groaned, hands coming up to cover her face. “Oh no.” How could she forget it?

“Rin?” Prince Nelyafinwë called out to her tentatively. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Rin shook her head, not daring to look up. She had been careless. She should’ve put it down and then rushed out into the gates.

“This is bad,” she moaned through her hand. “This is really, really bad.”

“What?” Carnistir blurted, barely holding himself from blowing up. He had been there when it happened. How could he not remember it?

In any case, Rin had to come clean. She had to confess.

When she finally raised her face from her hands, distress was evident in her expression. “I dropped Lady Nerdanel’s vase!”

Silence.

The princes and Winyavílë blinked. The other healers stopped whatever they were doing.

And then, a soft snort followed by laughter erupted from Prince Nelyafinwë’s chest. Rin watched in astonishment at how the eldest son of Fëanáro threw his head back and cackled without care.

This only served to make Rin feel more outraged. “Stop laughing, this is serious!” she cried indignantly. “It was a commission soon to be delivered!”

Meanwhile, Carnistir was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath, “By the Valar, the audacity…”

Winyavílë looked at her as if she had said something incomprehensible, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and disapproval.

“It seems,” the healer said slowly with a tired sigh, “like we need to set your priorities straight as well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rin grunted, crossing her arms.

Carnistir finally burst, “You pass out, and that is what you get worked up about?”

In fairness, Rin was still mentally and emotionally disoriented. But it wasn’t like any of them could help her with that. The thought alone was enough to be a catalyst to send her into another pit of despair.

But she needed to get rid of all these elves to even attempt to deal with her baggage. She couldn’t let the sense of immense unease consume her right now.

She needed to be alone.

Always alone now.

“She spent so much time on it too. It was supposed to be finished so she could focus on the lotus lanterns,” she grumbled, shaking her head in an effort to dispel her own disturbing thoughts. “Besides, life goes on,” she added, looking away. Manwë’s reaction and the carefree elves all around her were enough proof of that.

“That may be, but it isn’t more important than your health. Ever,” said Prince Nelyafinwë, having finally recovered from laughter. His expression was rather serious now, his tone firm but reassuringly so. “Rest assured, Mother would’ve said the same.”

“Speaking of, where is Mother?” Carnistir asked. “Still in Father’s forge with him and Lord Aulë?”

“That is indeed a very good question,” said the eldest son of Fëanáro. With a graceful cant of his head, he gestured towards the door, “Why don’t you go and let her know of Rin’s condition?”

Rin and Carnistir opened their mouths at the same time, each having their own objections.

“I’m sure she’s pretty busy right now –” Rin began, while Carnistir asked petulantly “Why does it have to be me?”

The redhead responded to their antics with a single lift of an elegant eyebrow. “If anyone is allowed to interrupt their discussion in face of an emergency, it’s you, Moryo,” he said calmly to his brother. They stared at each other for a long moment, long enough to have Rin assume that a silent conversation was happening between them. In the end, Carnistir sighed and turned to leave.

Then, Prince Nelyafinwë turned to Rin, “And I know for a fact that Mother would not want this to be kept secret from her.”

Soon, Carnistir was definitely not stomping out of the healer’s ward, grumbling under his breath; and Rin was half-sitting on the infirmary bed, doing her best to not glare at the third elf in line for the Noldorin throne. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to gather he had ulterior motives, however noble or good-natured they may be.

And surely enough, the healers also dispersed, making their way towards the palace kitchen to bring her something to eat and drink. Her claims of not being hungry were politely ignored, much to her irritation.

All left except for Winyavílë, who insisted on staying nearby in case another “incident” happened. Rin watched in astonishment as her healer politely refused the prince’s equally cordial order, saying that he was under strict orders from Lady Nerdanel to keep an eye on her.

The eldest prince seemed to have seen the merit of keeping the healer around, for he gave a little nod of consent in Winyavílë’s direction before turning back to Rin.

She chuckled derisively, “To have not one, but two princes of the Noldor at my beck and call… I must truly be special.” She had to laugh at the irony between now and the first time she had met the Fëanorians. The sense of awe and trepidation left its place to bitter sarcasm and frustration. The dull ache in her chest intensified as she beheld the otherworldly beauty of the prince in front of her.

Well, she thought ruefully, I suppose the word “otherworldly” doesn’t apply here, since I am in the “other world”. If anything, I’m more otherworldly than him, in a weird way.

Though he could sense something was bothering her immensely, said prince was unaware of Rin’s exhausting mental gymnastics. He gave out a sigh, a tired smile adorning his lips, “Well, you certainly know how to keep us on our toes.”

Rin knew she was in trouble when his face turned serious. He walked closer to the head of the bed, and asked quietly, “May I?” His eyes briefly darted around the healer’s ward, signaling to her that he wanted to have a private conversation. Well. As private as it could be with Winyavílë around.

She weighed her options. Could she even refuse a prince? Let’s just get this over with. She gave a small nod of consent.

With her leave, Prince Nelyafinwë sat at the edge of the bed, and leaned forward. Even that small movement looked too fluid, too graceful. “Moryo told me that you’ve been trying to contact the Valar for quite some time now, and that they’ve been… ignoring your letters,” his voice was lower, even quieter now. “He says this might be the reason behind the incident at the gates.”

Unable to hide her little flinch, she bit her lip nervously. A prick of irritation made its way into her chest upon learning that Carnistir shared this information with his elder brother. But the anger quickly dissipated this time, since Rin knew and felt it was unjustified. Vórilotsë had known of some of her endeavors of trying to establish contact with the Valar as well. It wasn’t a secret, anyway, save for the content of the letters.

But Prince Nelyafinwë noticed Rin stiffening. “Do these assumptions hold any truth?” he asked gently.

Looking away, Rin tiredly murmured, “Yes, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” She was too exhausted to come up with a total lie.

He frowned, “How so?”

Rin looked at him as if he sprouted a second head, “Didn’t you see what happened at the gates? Whatever I was asking for got rejected.”

I got rejected.

The slight wobble in her voice didn’t escape the prince. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again hesitantly. He looked like he wanted to ask something but was having second thoughts on whether he should ask it or not. Rin regarded him curiously as he searched for the right words, realizing this was a rare moment. Ever a man of diplomacy, debate and literature, it was unusual to see him at a loss for words.

Finally, he slowly said, “If you could perhaps… share at least some of the contents of your letters, or why you wanted to contact the Valar in the first place, maybe we could figure out why they’re avoiding you.”

It sounded like a direct, simple question, but Rin felt like he was dancing around another, unknown subject. Well, she could dance, too. “You’re awfully quick to come to that conclusion,” she stated carefully. “How come you have so little faith in your Valar? Maybe I’m in the wrong here instead of being the wronged.”

He raised a brow at her remark, “You’re quick to jump into the conclusion that I’m jumping into conclusions,” he said, a spark of amusement briefly flashing in his grey eyes. “I’m simply withholding judgement until I hear from all sides and understand their reasonings.”

Rin snorted, “You’d make a good king, my prince.” A smile creeped up on her lips, half genuine half sarcastic.

This was the first time she witnessed the regal prince of the Noldor roll his eyes, “Then you should know by now that distractions won’t work on me.” There was a childish stubbornness in his tone that Rin almost chuckled upon hearing.

With a low voice laced with uncurbed worry, he then added, “You should also know that our house isn’t completely unfamiliar with grievances in fëa,” Here Rin assumed he was referring to his grandmother, “And given that you had a concussion quite recently that resulted in memory loss, it’s bound to have repercussions,” he shivered a little at something he remembered, but before Rin could ask what it was, he continued, “It’s already strange that the Gardens didn’t send any Maia to look at you. I just have the feeling that all of these are connected somehow.”

Oh, he is good, she thought begrudgingly. If it hadn’t been for anxiety slowly yawning back to life in her chest, she would’ve said she was impressed.

“In order for us to get you the help you need,” he said finally, “we need to know what you seek so desperately.”

Rin was stunned into silence. He was able to gather all this just from the crumbs of information he had gotten from here and there. Her real identity was still something he couldn’t possibly learn on his own – or at least that’s what Rin tried to tell herself for reassurance – but he had gotten surprisingly close to the truth on his own.

Denying it would be stupid at this point. Rin didn’t trust herself with being that good of a liar.

“Apparently I asked for something I shouldn’t have asked,” she murmured. Something so impossible that even the Valar cannot – or will not – grant.

Prince Nelyafinwë remained silent, looking at her expectantly. Rin considered how rude it would be to tell a prince to mind his own business.

Oh, to hell with it.

“I wanted to ask if I could go home,” she huffed, arms crossed.

He tilted his head, “Tol Eressëa?”

She nodded. Sure. Let’s go with that.

“I see,” he hummed, looking away in contemplation. “I must say, I’ve never heard of anyone wanting to journey back after coming to Aman.”

“I bet your kings were so awestruck the first time they saw this place,” she said conversationally, hoping to divert his attention. “Given their enthusiasm to grab their people and practically run after Oromë to the western shores.” There was a slight twitch of his brows upon hearing her words, and that little bird-like tilt of his head like he has caught something in her speech. But whatever it was, Rin wasn’t going to find out until much later.

He finally turned back to her with a small, knowing smile. Darn. “But not you, it seems.”

Her attempt at distraction thwarted, she grumbled with a shrug, “It’ not like I don’t think Aman is a beautiful place.” But it isn’t my home. “Besides, it’s not just me. Ráva actually went back to the island, didn’t she?”

He was hesitant to react for a few seconds, his smile faltering a little. Said nís was Eärien’s late mother. It would later occur to Rin that he might’ve been a little surprised at how detached she was towards the subject.

“Yes, now that you mention it,” he conceded. “Your mother was an exception.”

“And what about you, my prince?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“You’re a Valinorian born and raised,” she clarified, “I bet you don’t get easily impressed by its beauty anymore. Since you see it everyday.”

He chuckled, “It is true that as a family, we have been to every corner of Aman,” his smile was a fond one as he no doubt recalled many a-breathtaking views. “But no matter how many times we revisit them, there’s always something new waiting for us. If the scenery is the same, then all you need to do is look for the tiniest of details, and thus you’ll see the changes.”

Rin smiled for the first time that day upon hearing his answer. This was indeed the same prince who would stop on his way to the Court to chat with cooks, artisans, and servants; remembering their names and even the occupations of their family members. He had remembered her too. Well, she amended, he remembered Eärien. But you get the gist.

Prince Nelyafinwë noticed her soft smile turn dull, “I don’t know why the Valar are unwilling to help you,” he said gently, “but I can take this matter to the Court, if you’d like.” When he saw her eyes widen in alarm, he added hurriedly, “Not to the entire Court or anything. But once I speak with Mother and Father, I could consult to the High King. Only three of them would know. Well,” he amended, a smirk appearing on his face, “then the Valar, I suppose. They cannot ignore the High King, after all.”

Rin could feel herself depleting as she gave out a tired sigh. She had hardly any reason to doubt the good-will in his offer, but something in Manwë’s gaze told her that it wouldn’t change anything. She also believed that if the matter escalated all the way up to the High King, people would eventually hear about it. Especially if he too is rejected. Then, things could get real messy, and she already had enough attention on herself as it was. In fact, she wished she could disappear altogether.

“I appreciate the offer,” she said slowly, careful so as to keep her voice from cracking. “But I don’t think it would make any difference. Manwë himself refused to see me. There’s no need to put the High King in between.” She looked away, forlorn, “If anything, it would make the matter more conspicuous than it already is. And I don’ want that.”

After a moment of heavy silence, the prince quietly acquiesced, “I understand. I must admit, it’s highly probable things would escalate if we pursue this further.” If the King of Arda, the highest authority there is, outright refused to see her, things could only get worse from here. “You’ve given me much to think about.”

“‘We’?” she asked a little haughtily. “Since when is this a problem ‘we’ need to solve?”

His reply came quick. With a raised brow, he said in a slightly firm voice, “Since you passed out at the gates and scared everyone.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but it also left no room for argument. It was as if he was stating an undisputable fact. His face broke into a small smirk as he got up. “Besides, Mother would not let us hear the end of it if we leave things as they are.” Rin could do nothing but agree with him on that. It was a rare occasion, not looking forward to see the matriarch.

What he did next was going to leave Rin perplexed for the next three minutes. Prince Nelyafinwë, the grandson of the High King Finwë, the son of Fëanáro the genius inventor and Nerdanel the steadfast artist, the third in line for the throne, one of the most sought-after and respected princes of the Noldor, reached out and patted her head soothingly a few times before stepping away to make his way towards the door. “Rest now,” he called out as he opened the door. “Believe me when I say that you will need it for your future visitors.”

And with that, he was gone.

All was silent in the healer’s ward except for the soft steps of Winyavílë and his shuffling of medicinal herbs and bottles. In fact, he went on with his business as if nothing had happened, calm and soothing as always.

Rin blinked, looking around the room with a blank expression on her face. She could feel her cheeks burning, her elvish ears tingling. But this time, it wasn’t anything like the wave of fear and anxiety at the gates.

No, it wasn’t. But Rin would wager it was something that could be equally bad. Or even worse.

Groaning in frustration, she leaned back onto her pillow, and brought her hands to cover her face.

Chapter Text

Rin was not ready for her visitors.

Not long after Prince Nelyafinwë exited the healer’s wing came Lady Nerdanel with Carnistir in tow. With long, purposeful strides that had become her trademark in Rin’s eyes, the matriarch made her way to Rin’s side, looking at her charge up and down to try to evaluate the damage as she approached. Carnistir, too, was checking for any new signs of distress in his not-so-subtle manner, his expression of worry mixed with suspicion. For if he knew Rin even a little, he was sure that she would try to hide whatever it was that was bothering her.

In many ways, Rin was like an open book to her elvish friends and caretakers. She was rather free with her facial expressions and words most of the time. What she said reflected her thoughts exactly. Sometimes even too accurately. And this was a quality most of her peers found either refreshing or annoying, depending on the person.

But there were times – such as right now – when she strategically hid behind her simplicity. And this rightfully frustrated her elvish peers. She wasn’t lying, per se, but both Carnistir and his eldest brother felt like she wasn’t sharing half the complexity of the truth.

Lady Nerdanel ignored the stool next to the bed Winyavílë had placed before her arrival, and sat at the edge of the bed like her eldest son. “I came as soon as I could,” she said with a serious tone, “My husband is taking care of the rest of the preparations with Lord Aulë.”

Rin couldn’t help but sigh in relief when she heard that. She didn’t think she could have handled someone as intense as Fëanáro right now. She would’ve either shut down completely and stopped talking altogether, staring at everyone with a blank expression, or she would’ve screamed at them at the top of her lungs before storming out of the healer’s ward to lock herself in her chambers, never to come out again. There would’ve been no in-between.

Throughout her stay, she had been in the presence of the Crown Prince of the Noldor on multiple occasions, but he had rarely addressed her directly. Mainly because he and Lady Nerdanel were knee-deep in their lotus lantern project. And before that, they had been working on their individual projects as well as the rowan tree. She hadn’t been the object of his attention, exactly. But she had been on the sidelines long enough to observe the effect he had on the people of the household. It was a bit similar to the adoration and respect Prince Nelyafinwë got from their subjects, but with Fëanáro, these sentiments were mixed with fascination and trepidation. The air practically buzzed with energy when he was around. It reminded Rin of the time at the gates when Prince Makaläure unconsciously spoke to his mother with words laced with Songs of Power. The atmosphere became… denser, in a weird way. Except the patriarch didn’t have to talk to make the air shift around him. He just had to direct his gaze with focused intent. Rin had had the pleasure of witnessing him working, since he and Lady Nerdanel collaborated a lot. The very act of creation – be it a piece of art or an invention of some kind – had this strange, powerful effect around him. It was as if the entire world held its breath when he concentrated on creating something. Nothing else existed but that work, both for Fëanáro and for those witnessing him create. Many times Rin had had to pinch herself to get back to work and stop ogling the elf in his workshop. It’s like a spell he puts on everything around him, she thought often. Whether he was doing it on purpose or not, Rin didn’t know. What she did know was that if it had been up to her, she would’ve remained there until he was finished out of sheer curiosity about the outcome.

He also had a distinct gait, Rin noticed. He always walked as if he knew exactly where he was going, even when deep in thought or distracted. She had never seen him walk in a leisurely manner. Always sure of himself, at least in appearance. And that, Rin observed, did wonders to reassure the people around him in turn. While Lady Nerdanel’s support was silent, thoughtful, level-headed but always deeply rooted, his was electric. It breathed life into the people around him in such a way that reminded Rin of how media depicted Victor Frankenstein using lightning to bring the Creature to life (minus Victor’s cowardice and what happens afterwards of course). Modern Prometheus indeed, she had thought more often than not with a shiver down her spine. One spark and there was life, a purpose. The way he explained a subject to his sons and students – yes, he had many students and apprentices – always seemed to make whatever task they were assigned easier. He broke it down into small, understandable pieces, and when those pieces came together to make a whole, it felt so satisfying even for bystanders. Rin may not be a blacksmith or a jewelry carver, but she did recognize a delicious lecture when she saw one. She recognized the performativity in his craft as an instructor, his passion seeping into the heart of his apprentices as he took control of the room with his mere words. It reminded Rin of his own professors at the university who inspired her to become like them.

But as enchanting as he was, Crown Prince Fëanáro was also hard to please, and had little tolerance for anything less than “perfection”. Only a certain amount of patience was shown towards mediocrity. If you didn’t keep up, you would be left behind. He rarely repeated a subject he had talked about before. In such a case, he didn’t need to so much as grunt or shout to show his irritation. It was so much pressure all around that you would feel bad yourself before anyone said anything, and just… leave, thinking that you were in the way, somehow. Leaving wouldn’t be held against the person or considered a failure either, as it was well known all across Valinor how hard it was to keep up with the mind of Fëanáro. In any case, one was always allowed to enroll again once they improved themselves.

Therefore, as alluring as the idea of chatting with him was, Rin didn’t quite fancy feeling that sort of pressure and self-consciousness any time soon. It would only serve to drill in the sensation of being an imperfect stranger in this perfection-obsessed world. Furthermore, the Crown Prince reminded her of her own passions and goals that she had just lost forever as far as she knew. Her goals to become an academician, to write a book, to go at different countries for the sake of academia and experience… Things that drove her, motivated her to keep going.

So, she was quite relieved not to see the Crown Prince with his spouse, visiting their little foundling in the healer’s ward. Rin was still unstable, and the weight in her chest was beginning to return as Lady Nerdanel took her hand and held it in hers, squeezing it. She looked so painfully like her own mother then, Rin had to bite inside of her cheek hard to stop herself from crying.

“Will you tell me what happened, Rin?” asked the matriarch in a quiet, unwaveringly kind. It didn’t help with Rin’s self-restraint at all. A wave of longing washed over her entire being, threatening to drown her. How she wished it were her own mother sitting across from her right now.

Forcing herself to speak over the lump in her throat, the human in Eärien’s body managed to croak, “I’ve… I’ve been trying to establish contact with some of the Valar.” A small frown marred the lady’s forehead as her charge explained herself, “To ask them if I could go home.” She could feel the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She took a deep breath and did her best to smile widely and shrug as nonchalantly as possible, tilting her head to the side. “Didn’t work, as you may have probably heard.”

She knew her lips were trembling, her hands shaking. Yet she forced herself to keep on smiling, silently praying that she didn’t have to talk about it anymore. Wait for just a little while longer. Please. Just until you’re allowed to go back to your chambers, she tried to bargain with herself. She could see the lines of worry appearing on the marble-like features of the Lady of the house. It seemed like she wanted to press on, but she also knew that it could potentially be hazardous for everyone involved if she did. Rin could see where Prince Nelyafinwë’s knack for correct insight came from. Maybe said prince had talked to his mother beforehand.

“I see,” Lady Nerdanel murmured, her usually composed face looking downtrodden ever so slightly. “I thought – well, I thought you were doing well here. Or at least starting to.”

Rin couldn’t bear to look at the matriarch’s sad, disappointed countenance, so she bowed her head and bit her lip. She knew that Lady Nerdanel wasn’t disappointed in her. Rather, she was afraid that she had let Rin down somehow. That her support hadn’t been enough. The last thing the young woman wanted was for Lady Nerdanel to feel guilty over the state she was in.

What the matriarch said next only confirmed her suspicions. “I know I haven’t been able to spend ample amount of time with you due to the preparations for the Feast,” she murmured with a small cant of her head. A hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up in Rin’s chest. “But I was hoping to make it up to you at the time of the Feast,” she continued as she raised her gaze towards her young charge again, “I’ve written to a tailor in Tirion for them to come and take your measurements for your dress and have you pick some fabrics.” A hopeful smile broke into her lips, “Then, after the Feast, we can go to Alqualondë and visit Granny Ëarsil, hmm?”

The more Lady Nerdanel revealed, the more Rin wished the older woman would just stop talking. With every thoughtful gesture, the fist that held her heart hostage closed in on it a little tighter. She didn’t feel like she deserved such kindness, since she wasn’t even the person they thought she was. Its foundation was a lie. She had been recklessly tricking everyone in the hopes of going back to her own world in the end. In the hopes that none of it would matter. That her stay was temporary. Seeing these people worrying about her and trying to cheer her up in their own ways made her heart ache. She couldn’t find it within herself to look at them straight in the eye. Neither could she find it within herself to tell the matriarch that she didn’t want to go to the Feast. In fact, all she wanted to do was to go back to her chambers and never come out again.

She had to make do with a curt nod for now. She didn’t have the heart to refuse the motherly nís just yet.

“Sorry I broke your vase,” Rin mumbled, averting her gaze.

Lady Nerdanel huffed, “Don’t you start troubling yourself with it,” squeezed Rin’s hand again in reassurance, “The client is an old friend of mine. She will understand if the vase is not ready for display until her next tea party.” The last two words were said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. A wobbly laugh broke out of the young charge’s lips. “Besides,” the matriarch added, “we have all the time in the world. There’s no rush.”

Rin’s breath got caught in her throat at Lady Nersanel’s last remark, her laughter dying prematurely.

All the time in the world.

“Y-yeah.” Rin’s eyes widened as she came to a morbid realization.

If she was stuck in this body, did that also mean her days were no longer finite? That if not killed, she would practically live forever? What of her soul? She was still Nihal, not Eärien. She was still human, wasn’t she? Her soul definitely felt like it. Even Huan could smell its difference. But surely an elvish body is bad for a human soul in the long run… She could more or less communicate with Nature like an elf, so she knew that her soul was connected to this body somehow. What would happen if she were to die from external circumstances? Would her soul leave Arda like Men, or would it stay at the Halls of Mandos? Was she tied to this place like all the elves until the literal end of Arda?

Would she dare find out?

Rin could feel herself blanching. Bowing her head slowly, she looked at the outline of her legs beneath the sheets, sprawled on the bed in front of her. She lifted her hands up a little as if she were in a trance, dissociating. While the concept of immortality could be enticing – like many people, she too feared death – it also meant stagnancy. It certainly was an irony that Rin was suddenly morbidly horrified in the face of her own potential “immortality”. She was pretty sure it should’ve been the other way around. A human should face their own mortality, right?

She was quite literally stuck in this never-changing body, wasn’t she? She couldn’t get sick. She couldn’t age (well, not by human standards), and she couldn’t go anywhere, both in spirit and in body. What about my family? My friends? My… my everything?

Don’t think about it.

All the joy that was born out of the knowledge that you are going to die someday, a human’s will to live and endure to see his dreams realized before death just… evaporated. Gone.

Don’t think about it.

What was the point of aspirations or the urgency to realize them if you had forever to do them? Would they even mean anything? And once realized, what then? Wouldn’t it be exhausting after a certain point to look for new drives every time the old ones are realized?

Not now.

More importantly, the people who were important to her definitely did not have forever. Even if by some miracle she found her way back to her world, would she even find them alive?

Stop it.

Would this even be called living? Was she condemned to become a living tomb like all these creatures around her?

With these thoughts spiraling in her mind, Rin could barely acknowledge Lady Nerdanel’s reassurance about the vase and brush off her worried looks when the matriarch observed her face lose its pallor at an alarming rate. She didn’t even see Winyavílë silently steeping towards her, his expression calm but unsure, ready to intervene.

I… I have to distract myself. Think of something else. Anything other than these… these stupid meta-logistics.

When she lifted her head abruptly, Rin noticed Carnistir bow his head to hide the blush of fury that was beginning to appear on his face. He balled his hands into fists as he glared at the floor, his eyes slowly going left and right in deep thought as to why the Valar were acting this way towards his friend, who was now in this state that none of them could quite understand. Incompetence was not a common ailment in the house of Fëanáro, after all. She remembered his words about him liking numbers, and how they gave him definitive answers. He didn’t like vagueness. He despised unclear answers and being helplessly confused for an extended period of time. Rin could hardly fault him for that. She felt the same about her own situation.

“What has the floor done to offend you, Moryo?” Rin asked with an overly cheerful, wobbly voice, eager to shift the conversation away from herself. Her friend whipped his head towards her direction, no doubt to reprimand her for trying to employ the same tactics of distraction again. But when they made eye-contact, he faltered. Rin didn’t know how disheveled or vulnerable she looked, but she figured it was enough to stop whatever chide was about to come out of his mouth when he noticed her silent plea to change the subject. He pursed his lips for a moment, regarding her with uncertainty.  

Finally, he sniffed nonchalantly, crossing his arms, “It’s too bright for my tastes.” He must’ve reached the conclusion that what his friend wanted aligned with what she needed this time. “Who even uses polish for white marble?”  

Rin gave out a shaky laugh. “If you think that’s too bright, I wonder what you make of the towers and buildings in Tirion.” Warmth began to seep into her heavy heart.

“Style-wise adequate, I suppose,” he lifted his chin in a contemplative manner, “though I could use a dash of color.” If Rin hadn’t been chastised before, she would’ve leapt from the bed and hugged the elf again. Words would have to make do, though.

Just when she opened her mouth to add her agreement, the door to the healer’s ward swung open with a wild bang, and in came Vórilotsë. “Rin!” she exclaimed as she took off running towards her once she spotted the nís. “I heard what happened at the gates. Are you alright?”

Rin groaned, wilting against the pillows that supported her back, “Does everyone know now?”

The chambermaid couldn’t hide her wince, “W-well, there were quite a few people around at the time, so… the word got around, I suppose.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what the ‘word’ is,” Rin said dryly, though her voice still wobbled slightly.

“What I know is that it is imperative that you get some rest, dear,” Lady Nerdanel intervened before her charge could worry herself over rumors. She rose to her feet with a sigh, clearly unhappy about having to leave the daughter of her late best friend, even though it was just temporary. “I will check in on the forges, and then… I have some letters to write.” There was a coldness in her voice and a gleam of stubborn determination in her eyes, as if she dared the Valar of Healing to ignore her call again just to see what happens. Rin wouldn’t be surprised if Lady Nerdanel banged her fist onto the doors of the Garden herself, demanding entrance for her charge. “I will come and check up on you as soon as I’m able.”

Said charge chuckled darkly in her mind. Be my guest, Lady, and do your worst. I don’t think they’ll accept me there. And even if they did, what would they do outside of the authority of the literal King of Arda? Make me fall asleep till the end of time?

That thought suddenly became all too appealing to the estranged human. How nice would it be to just fall asleep and forget everything. This was the first time since her arrival that Rin truly felt weary to the bone, both in body and in mind. A chill went down her spine. She shook her head profusely to snap out of these dangerous thoughts.

“That’s a good idea, my Lady,” Rin sighed, heaving herself up. “I have indeed reached my socializing quota for the day.” Her second remark earned her a snort from Carnistir. She could not wait to go to her chambers. She needed to be alone. She needed to calm down enough to think at a modicum of clarity.

She was stopped by a gentle hand on her shoulder. It was Winyavílë.

“The Lady and I were hoping you would stay here for the rest of the day, in case of an emergency.” The lady in question nodded firmly in confirmation, while her fourth son put his hands on his hips (a pose that very much echoed Lady Nerdanel when she was particularly annoyed), eyes narrowed as to what Rin was going to come up with this time to try and get away. 

Oh, hell no.

“I’m fine,” Rin said lamely. Downplaying her issues was the last thing she wanted to do, but she would do it if it meant she could be alone for a few hours at least. But damn it she couldn’t come up with a single sound argument.

After a tedious discussion in which the only proposition Rin offered was a childish “I don’t want to”, they ended up meeting in the middle. Rin would stay in the healer’s ward for the next few hours under the supervision of Winyavílë and Vórilotsë, the latter dutifully accepting the task Lady Nerdanel had given her. Carnistir had to leave in an hour, but that didn’t stop him from inviting himself to this pathetic sleep-over. In just a few minutes, he was back with a crochet he had begun yesterday, knitting away as he made small talk with Vórilotsë while Rin sulked on her bed, having pointedly turned her back to them in order to shut the world out and attempt to sleep. Giving up after a few minutes, she began to pester Carnistir on crocheting a plushie. She hoped this would irritate the fourth prince to leave, but soon Vórilotsë joined in with her animal suggestions while Carnistir argued they were no longer elflings, so they should stop acting like it. But neither was he above commenting on their animals of choice.

When Winyavílë, the trooper that he was, turned up with a concoction to help her sleep upon her request, Rin sat up and accepted it with a grateful nod. She downed the whole mug with a few gulps. Then the healer smiled widely in a way that made it obvious that the three of them were testing his patience, which was a novelty to see for Rin.

“If you would, my Prince, Vórilotsë, my patient is trying to rest. Your presence is not required if you keep talking,” his tone was calm, sweet. But there was something in it that made Rin shiver a little. And she wasn’t even the direct recipient of his “gentle” warning.

Doctors can be very, very scary.

She saw Carnistir stiffen, “Mother didn’t say I couldn’t stay,” he mumbled uneasily. Vórilotsë had gone unusually quiet, even though she was ordered by Lady Nerdanel personally to stay there. Both behaviors were so uncharacteristic that they made Rin nervous as well. She supposed she wouldn’t be surprised if the healer said in an equally cordial voice that he could break every single bone in their body in alphabetical order.

“Yes, on the condition that Rin gets some rest and our minds are at ease,” said the saccharine voice. Rin really hoped poisons didn’t exist in Valinor.

An uncomfortable silence echoed on the walls of the healer’s ward.

Rin cleared her throat as she gave the empty mug back to the healer. “Thank you, Winnie. You’re my favorite.” The name of the cartoon character spilled through her tongue unconsciously, surprising both Rin and the elves around her.

Blinks and looks of mild astonishment all around, all for different reasons.

For Rin, it was the satisfaction of finally remembering who (and what) Winyavílë resembled appearance and aura-wise.

Carnistir, though he knew not where the name had come from, raised an unimpressed eyebrow, “Really? Flattery and nicknames?”

“What? If I offer him my allegiance, maybe he’ll spare me,” Rin shrugged.

The stoic, soft-spoken healer who was the addressee of her gratitude tilted his head to the side in a way that made Rin want to squish his cheeks even in this situation, his sweet but cold-as-ice smile gone. It was replaced by a curious, slightly wide-eyed expression which, along with his unruly blonde hair and soft features, made him look rather adorable. He was indeed as close to the character as an elf could get. “‘Winnie’?”

Rin refused to elaborate. Instead, she moved to lie back down.

“Oh, so he gets a nickname too, now?” the chambermaid grumbled, crossing her arms. But Rin could spy a small smirk on the edge of her lips at the healer’s confusion.

Eyelids already getting heavy, Rin sighed as she nestled further into the bed, closing her eyes. “He’s been dealing with my…” bullshit “…issues ever since the concussion,” she yawned, “So of course he gets one, whether he likes it or not.”

******

When Rin was finally, finally allowed to go to her chambers, she didn’t feel the relief she was sure she was going to feel. Instead, she felt extremely numb as she slowly made her way through the stairs and the corridors towards her destination.

Winyavílë’s concoction had worked wonders, which was why she knew for a fact that her numbness wasn’t caused by drowsiness. It wasn’t fatigue or hunger either, for the other healers had been quite serious when they had ignored her protests and brought her food to eat after she woke up. No. It was her slowly losing her grip on reality, now that the distractions were gone.

Once there, she gingerly closed the door behind her stood in the middle of the room just like the day of her arrival, right after Lady Nerdanel had left her chambers after explaining Valinorian hours to her. It was as if she was seeing it for the first time.

That familiar, pressuring void in her chest returned. The silence of the room was broken by distant voices coming from the outside world, mocking her with their indifference.

Then her eyes fell on all of the items she had purchased from Tirion or made herself: the little wooden box of accessories, the prism, flowerpots, the rug beneath her feet, the pottery she had made in Lady Nerdanel’s workshop, her journal on the desk by the window. All to fill the barren room with life. These were things that she had picked. Aspects of her identity were reflected in every single one of her choices. Signs that Nihal was there.

Looking at these… traces of her existence only served to make her sick, the pain in her chest growing hot with rage this time. She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t ask to be there.

Every single one of those objects was an affront to her. They shouldn’t be there, but they were. Sneering at her, mocking her, laughing at the irony.

She didn’t even think about it as she swiftly moved forward, picking up one of the flowerpots to throw it to the wall with all her might. It shattered with a crash that wasn’t loud enough to satisfy her. So she picked another one and flung that onto the floor across the room as well. She kicked at the rug, and when that wasn’t enough, she grabbed a letter opener and stabbed at it in fury. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as the rug surrendered to the blade and ripped open, but she still wasn’t satisfied. Grabbing the jewelry box, she flung it towards the nightstand where it collided with the Fëanorian lamp. While the letter broke and spilled its innards, the crystalline lamp fell to the floor still intact.

She was especially enthusiastic about destroying her works of pottery. She pushed away the memories of Lady Nerdanel slowly guiding her clumsy hands on the wet clay as it turned in its own axis, the matriarch instructing her in an unrushed, calm voice. The sense of wonder as she observed the clay taking shape in her hands. They shattered louder than the pots, releasing these bittersweet memories inside. Just as well. Rin wanted nothing more than to be free of them.

The prism was her next victim, and it too couldn’t hold against Rin’s force combined with gravity. The glass didn’t shatter nearly as much as Rin would have liked – it was surprisingly sturdy – but she consoled herself with the fact that the prism was no longer functional, just like time in this world. Some shards sprang upwards from the force of the impact, cutting at her now healed ankle. Rin could hardly feel the pain, which made her even more angry. A human’s ankle wouldn’t heal in a few hours.

Still delirious from anger, her eyes now landed onto the journal lying on her desk: innocent, cheerful, and all things hopeful. Rin decided to save it for the last. She didn’t make a move to take it until she emptied all the drawers and scattered the papers, inkboxes and quills onto the floor, painting the white marble tar black. Once that was done, she hurled the drawers away.

And at last, she took the journal. A hysterical laugh escaped her lips when she saw the alphabet of her mother tongue, taunting her with the promise of something she had lost forever like a sick joke. Sobbing and cackling, Rin tore the pages with her fists, yanking them off the book and then ripping them into shreds like a woman possessed in hopes of erasing herself.

She didn’t know when she had sunk down on her knees, amongst the remaining pieces of Nihal. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, reminding her she was alive and still here. That all this destruction was for nothing. The void in her chest was gone, and only a strange numbness was left. She could feel the wind on her cheeks through the trail her tears had left. She sniffled and lifted the hem of her sleeve to stiffly wipe the snot off her face, blinking at her masterpiece of a room as she did so. For one blissful moment, she felt nothing at all, and sat completely still save for her heaving chest.

But she soon began to fear this… nothingness just as much as the overwhelming emotions. She felt lightheaded as though she were drifting towards God knew where, her eyes staring at nothing in particular.

Then, as if by magnetic pull, they landed on the pieces of paper she had ripped into smithereens. The familiar letters peeked through the gaps, drawing their last breaths. Only then it dawned on her: they were all she had. The parting had been too sudden. Without a warning. Everything was taken from her in an instant. Her identity was her only anchor. The only thing she could trust in the face of the unknown, the only thing that hadn’t changed. The only thing she knew.

And she had just destroyed its only tangible proofs of existence in a fit of anger.

“No,” she whispered as she began to crawl on her hands and knees to scramble for the shattered words, her movements becoming more and more frantic as the realization traveled from her mind into her heart. “No no no…” She wondered if this was what it felt like when innocent people killed someone for the first time. An immense sense of dread and unbearable remorse.

It ripped the soul apart.

“I’m sorry,” she groaned in-between sobs, her hands reaching out to sweep the remains towards herself in hopes of making them, and by proxy, her, whole again. “Please, I’m so sorry…”

With shaking hands, she took the tattered journal and pressed it over her heart, and closed her eyes tightly shut. Sobs racked her body as she sat back and drew her knees to her chest. Not knowing what else to do, she prayed. But that wasn’t enough. She wanted reassurance. She wanted to be held like a lost child embraced by her mother. A basic, human need for intimacy.

No one came.

So the first and only human in Valinor for eons to come brought her hands up to her upper arms and hugged herself as tightly as she could, weakly calling out to her own mother between broken sobs until exhaustion subtly creeped into her and took over, her elvish body singing its alien lullaby.

******

The first thing Turcafinwë Tyelkormo noticed about his mother’s little charity project was how disturbingly ordinary and uninteresting she looked.

She could’ve been a servant or any other nís in Tirion and he wouldn’t have known the difference. In fact, he had forgotten she even existed until he saw her again, hiding behind Mother and Moryo.

At first, he didn’t understand the nature of his uneasiness. The moment he rode through the front gate, the instincts he had been honing under Oromë’s tutelage for years kicked in, suddenly making him restless. Something or someone was watching him. The feeling was a little akin to a predator watching its prey from somewhere unseen; only he was used to being the hunter, not the other way around.

But years of training had taught him where to look. Places and people you wouldn’t look twice under normal circumstances. And there, he saw the little nís whom he could only describe as a harmless runt, standing behind his family with a look in her eyes that was supposed to give away something, surely. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

It irritated him that he could discern nothing from her appearance. He had seen her before their encounter at the gates, but only from afar. And he hadn’t felt anything back then. In his mind, she had been in the same category as the servants or the chambermaids. Upon seeing her again, though… he wished he had Huan with him at that moment. But the way her eyes shifted when she thought no one was watching, silently observing the happenings around her, and the minute sparks of rebellion in her eyes that went as swift as they came were proof enough for now to… investigate in the future.

And investigate he did.

The first opportunity came at his feet uninvited (quite literally), but not unwelcome. He found her sneaking around in meadows, all by herself. To do what, he didn’t know. What he did know was that her interaction with Huan in the shack at the edge of the forest served to confirm his initial suspicions. Whatever was wrong with her, the hound could smell it. The only issue was that when he asked Huan about it later, all his companion communicated to him was a confused “Her fëa smells odd.” Nothing more.

But he couldn’t trust the hound’s judgement on the matter completely anyway. It simply wasn’t in Huan’s nature to be hostile toward the Children of Eru. So the dog’s change of attitude didn’t say much on the matter, unfortunately. 

The way she remained calm against his goading, the way she gave answers that didn’t really say anything at all, the way she deflected his earnest warning, and the way her eyes glinted knowingly… they irritated him greatly.

As he sped through the forest and palace garden with Huan later that day, adding his Song into those of birds and trees, they told him even more concerning things about her. To him they sang of songs, unruly rhythms and speeches in strange languages spoken out without care when this strange nís skipped through the meadows and forest paths, away from elvish eyes and ears.

But the forest had heard her.

When he asked them to repeat the alien words, though, all of the trees and birds said something different, each remembering the words differently. They even showed him their memories of her saying them, but either the memories were too jumbled, or because it was a foreign tongue and so made no sense to the denizens of the forest, it made no sense to him either.

He shared his discovery with Curvo while the latter was working at his personal workshop, eager to help Mother finish carving the jewels for the rowan tree so that he could go back to his son and wife as soon as possible. The only response Tyelko got from him was a bored, “She’s an islander, Tyelko. Of course she speaks another tongue.”

“The trees said they didn’t sound elvish at all,” he insisted.

“How many elvish languages do you reckon they’ve heard?” asked Curvo disinterestedly, ever the voice of logic. “Unless their fëa can miraculously travel all over Arda.”

Fair point.

Silence fell over the brothers, only broken by the tinkering of the smith.

Then, another source of concern popped into the hunter’s mind. “What do you make of Moryo’s friendship with her, then?”

Without looking up from his work, Curvo said absentmindedly, “Should I have opinions about it?”

“Well, Moryo isn’t exactly the friendliest of us,” Tyelko rolled his eyes, “Don’t you find it strange that she just barged into our lives and immediately befriended him, of all people?”

“What, are you jealous that she didn’t befriend you first?” asked the fifth son of Fëanáro, with a tinge of cold amusement in his voice.

“Curvo,” growled his brother.

“I, too, was considered unapproachable by posh Noldorin societies before my wife and I started courting,” Curvo said on a more serious note. “Why weren’t you worried back then?”

“Because your wife is a noble,” Tyelko shot back. “Her intentions were pure. She didn’t have anything material to gain from your courtship, aside from the jewels and accessories you made for her. And there are plenty of those to go around in Tirion with or without you.”

His younger brother scoffed. As if there could be anyone else aside from their father who could top him in his craft. But he knew the hunter too well to get offended by his statement and overlook the real meaning behind it.

He lifted his head from his work for the first time since Tyelko’s arrival at his workshop. “Do you think this nís is using Moryo somehow, then? What for? Title? Prestige?”

Tyelko hissed, “Think about it, Curvo. She’s from Tol Eressëa, and she’s lost her family. Suddenly she’s invited into the Land of Light by Mother. It would indeed be an absolute miracle if she were to be elevated into the most well-known family of Valinor aside from King Ingwë and his brood.” Sarcasm laced his voice as he spoke the last sentence.

“So, you think she’s taking advantage of our brother to marry into the royal family?” asked Curvo, crossing his arms and lifting an unconvinced brow.

“I’m saying something’s changed about her,” Tyelko said through gritted teeth. Lowering his voice, he said, “I can’t tell what, exactly, but there’s just something about her that’s different from how she was before. There’s… intent in her words and actions now. Ulterior motives. Like she knows something we don’t. And the fact that everything happened at such short notice makes me uneasy. We come home and suddenly Moryo has a new friend. Our Moryo warming up to someone in mere seven days? Please.”

“She’s tricking him, and she will end up breaking Moryo’s heart,” Curvo concluded for him. He huffed exasperatedly, but a hint of worry began to appear in his eyes as well. He trusted his brother’s instincts. They had proven correct many times before. “These are big claims, Tyelko.”

“I know,” nodded the hunter, “Which is why I will not let this matter go.”

So, he took it upon himself to pay Mother a visit at her workshop every day. Every day for as long as Huan could sit still, that is. He tried to observe her without making it obvious that he was observing her. He wasn’t worried about the nís finding out, per se, but he was worried about his Mother figuring out what he was doing and chasing him out of her workshop before he could get any tangible evidence. It was her best friend’s daughter, after all. Unsurprisingly, she felt responsible for the nís. Another show of goodness that could be taken advantage of.

Throughout his visits, he observed that her strangeness was written not only in her gaze, but also in the way she moved. He wondered if any of the sundered elves on that small island moved as stiffly as her. Her movements were clumsy and ungainly, as if she was mocking them all. Her laughs lacked control and melody common among the Eldar, and her words were too lax, lacking in eloquence. It was as though she was performing being an Elda, not being one. He was appalled that no one else was bothered by these… poor attempts at imitation. Instead, Mother seemed to think of them as a good sign of Eärien trying to adapt to life at the palace.

What really set him on edge, though, were the times he eerily forgot she was even there. He took care not to follow her every move with his eyes for the sake of being discrete, so sometimes he would lose sight of her while conversing with Mother. It was so easy to forget about her presence. To let her fall back to the background as he came up to Mother while she explained to him the carving process of her latest statues. And then he would hear her dull voice right beside him, telling him to move aside a little bit so that she could pass, carrying the materials Mother had requested. Or the edge of a finished project would suddenly poke his back as she tried to transport it to where the others were located. Or she would speak up from across the room, asking Mother something. That feeling of being hunted, the uneasiness of standing in the middle of a clearing while something watched him hidden in the forest foliage would return full force, and he would gasp in startlement. He was astonished at himself for letting his guard down around her that easily. And if even Tyelko fell victim to that, what chance did Moryo – or even Nelyo – have?

Tyelko had always preferred direct confrontations. Even when hunting, setting traps or ambushing prey were nothing next to the thrill of the actual chase. He liked dealing with his problems upfront. There was a certain honesty in that. Simplicity and purity. It was one of the reasons why he couldn’t stand being at Court, always preferring the wilderness over societal parties and sugarcoated words.

But he soon came to the conclusion that even simplicity was complex when it came to Eärien. Complex in the sense that it lulled people into underestimating her. Simple and heartfelt words that only revealed half of the truth.

He supposed he could overlook his eldest brother’s odd fascination with her, since he indulged everyone with pleasant conversation and sympathy. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, given the story of her recent concussion and everyone fussing over her. It would be short lived, certainly, once the mystique around her slowly lifted. What he didn’t expect was for them to go beyond simple pleasantries. What was this, then, if not a woman trying to toy with two of his brothers at the same time? Nelyo could most likely take care of himself – he is much more cunning than people assume, thankfully – but Moryo…

He tried to talk to Moryo about it, but his dear little brother didn’t take the implications of his naiveté very well. Now, Tyelko knew that he was no diplomat like Nelyo, but he certainly didn’t mean that people would only want to be Moryo’s friend if they had something to gain from that friendship. What he did insinuate was that Moryo wasn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with, and if an outsider (in this case, a literal one, for despite being half Noldo half Teleri, she was an islander) approached him and befriended him at such short notice, there had to be some ulterior motives, and it was Tyelko’s job as his older brother to look out for him.

When he told his concerns to Kano and Nelyo, they didn’t seem too bothered. Mainly because the two of them had been too busy with their own duties. Kano was trying to write a new song for the upcoming feast, so he was either cooped up in his study with his harp or out and about for “inspirational purposes”; while Nelyo was doing his best to finish most of his courtly duties until things started to get really hectic around the household, hoping that he and his brothers could help with the preparations as much as they could.

Though, his eldest brother did say that it would be wrong to assume something was “wrong” with her aside from physical repercussions from her head injury. “Not to mention the fact that she lost her parents quite recently,” he told Tyelko with a serious tone. “And she’s begun to live in an environment unknown to her, with a potentially completely different culture. It is only natural for her to struggle. Do not fall into the mistake of reading too much into things and assuming bad intentions where there are none.”

Nothing about her is natural.

Meanwhile, his youngest brothers – the Ambarussa – were a little easier to influence. They were confused by his warning, and while they didn’t actively try to avoid her, neither did they let their curiosity get the best of them and approach her. Instead, they kept themselves at a safe distance from her. Tyelko was proud of them. His little brothers were growing up.

As for his parents… well. He didn’t even try to open the subject to them. Aside from their busy schedule, he knew how much the nís’ mother had meant to them. He knew for a fact that Mother would have none of it. As for Father… Tyelko knew he needed more than mere “instincts” to convince him. So he had decided not to voice his concerns until he had substantial reasons to do so.

When he came back from his brother’s estate to help with the preparations, however, he noticed that things had changed drastically yet again.

The nís seemed to be merely a shadow of her former self, walking along the palace corridors and around Mother’s workshop like a homeless spirit or a mindless husk of an elf. Her movements turned from ungainly to mechanical and dispassionate, and her voice somehow became even duller than before; speaking only when spoken to, only doing things when she’s told to do them. She didn’t even touch the food in front of her until someone told her to eat it.

Normally he would’ve called this an improvement compared to her previous, impertinent attitude and less-than-elegant, cheeky voice, but this new monotone way of speaking and acting was just as disquieting.

Her visage had changed as well. That annoyingly rebellious spark was gone. Paler now, it was as if life was slowly getting drained out of her. The dark rings under her eyes didn’t help with the image either. Granted, whenever she was off duty, the young woman would excuse herself to her chambers. Upon questioning the servants a little, he discovered that she would not come out of her room for hours. When a chambermaid friend of hers went to check in on her, the nís had reassured her in a not-so-reassuring way that she was just sleeping. Who even slept that long?

Ever since his arrival, Tyelko had been trying to goad her into some sort of action that would reveal her true self. Verbal jibes, pressure by his presence in the workshop, even physically blocking her way and towering over her at the doorways for a short while. Much to his confusion and irritation, Eärien didn’t seem at all bothered by his endeavors. In fact, she was so far away in her mind that he didn’t think she even noticed his efforts. They were… insignificant. She answered every jeer with silence and stepped around or waited for him to get bored with her without even looking at him when he blocked her path.

Normally, Tyelko would’ve celebrated because her strangely cold and detached attitude had also affected her interactions with his family. One would think that she truly heeded his warning and decided to stay away from them.

But just like her former self, this too attracted unwanted attention. Much to his disbelief and annoyance, Moryo and Nelyo became even more stubborn to approach and speak to her. Well, mostly Moryo since Nelyo had to go back to Grandfather’s Court to help him wrap things up, but he was uncharacteristically reluctant to do so this time around. The more aloof she behaved, the more confused and concerned people around her would get. He especially hated the confused and hurt expression on Moryo’s face every time she politely refused to spend time with him. The same could be said for Mother as well, for although she was getting rather busy with the lanterns, she too did everything she could to keep the nís within her line of sight, trying to strike up conversations and giving her tasks within the workshop to engage with. And yet, she remained silent and detached. What was this if not being capricious?

At this point, Tyelko was pretty sure she was doing all this to get attention.

Well, if that was what she wanted, attention she would get. Including his.

A more direct approach was in order.

******

 Nothing in this world belongs to me, and neither do I belong to anything or anyone.

Within the course of the days after her little “tantrum” in her chambers, Rin came to discover that the more she tried to cling to her identity, the smaller and more insignificant she felt. It didn’t bring her the freedom and empowerment she had thought it would. It felt more like she was free-falling in an endless well, waiting to hit the rock bottom that just wouldn’t come. At least that would be a solid ground to lift herself back up from. Something she could lean on. Things could only go up from there.

She wasn’t sure if this was due to the modern human’s desire to own things or be bound to someone – be it on a professional level or a familial level – but she detested the feeling of being out in the open. Being unbound to someone or something. Maybe this was what true freedom meant. No attachments, no obligations, nothing.

For what was she supposed to do with the fact that she was, well, Nihal? Start from scratch? Start a whole new life with its foundations being a complete lie? As if she wasn’t feeling like an imposter already. The idea alone was enough to drain all energy from her prison of a body.

There was no place for her in this world. Her kind didn’t even exist yet! And even if they did, they were going to be of no consequence or importance to the Powers here until some of them went up and stupidly tried to conquer this place. All her endeavors before had been to ensure that Eärien would find her place in Valinor. She hadn’t been trying to build a life here. She had been trying to survive long enough to find a way back home. And now that that was denied…

What was worse was that now she was overly conscious that her every action would have direct consequences on herself. While this was in itself considered common knowledge – because, duh, of course you are responsible for your actions – throughout her stay here, she had always reassured herself that it would not matter if she acted a little immaturely or boldly. She was in a dream world anyway, wasn’t she? And the people around her… It was so, so easy to forget that they were characters from a book while interacting with them, but before her encounter with Manwë, that knowledge had always been there at the back of her mind, and that was why she had been able to analyze their actions and words, and even predict them sometimes. Hell, if she hadn’t felt uneasy about it, she would’ve even manipulated them with that knowledge.   

This ultimately made her crawl back into her shell that was her spiraling mind. She couldn’t find the courage within herself to take initiative in any sort of situation. She wouldn’t speak up; she wouldn’t dare do anything she was told not to or even touch anything that wasn’t Eärien’s. Touch in the sense that Lady Nerdanel had to tell her specifically that it was alright for her to take materials or utensils and bring them to her.

She felt as powerless, incapacitated and helpless as the time she was unexpectedly assaulted by her newly acquired elvish senses while she and Carnistir were traversing the palace garden.  

So, the more the residents of the palace became engrossed in the preparations for the High Feast, the more detached and shy she had become. She did as she was told, and went along with the whims of others with no purpose of her own.

Her heart did ache distinctly whenever Carnistir came up to her and stubbornly sat next to her and knitted in a silence that matched hers, a scowl of confusion on his face that contrasted with her empty expression. Sometimes Rin had the feeling that he would’ve preferred it if they had fought or yelled at each other. But she just didn’t know how to break this heavy silence. And by the looks of it, neither did he. And yet he stayed an hour or so every day.

Or when just before leaving for Tirion one last time before the Feast, Prince Nelyafinwë pointedly held out an apple he had nicked from the kitchen with a boyish smile on his face that slowly turned into a small frown when she made no move to take it from his hand. He leaned down towards her then, almost at her eye-level, and tilted his head as he asked, “Whatever happened to the nís who stole food from the kitchen, defended a piece of art against the artist himself and called a firstborn Prince of the Noldor a people-pleaser, hmm?”

A faint blush began to adorn her cheeks then, for he had never stood so close to her before. 

She turned her head away slightly, unable to make eye contact. Well, you see, she never existed. Not here anyway.

“I apologize for being so immature and reckless before.” The frown on the prince’s face grew, but she didn’t see it. “Thank you, my Prince, but I cannot accept it.” She did a little bow and stepped aside to move around him. But the prince stepped in front of her again and reached for her hand and put the apple in her palm, closing her fingers around it before letting go. Rin’s eyes widened a fraction.

Satisfied that he elicited some reaction from her, his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Well, when you see that nís again, tell her that this is a gift from Prince ‘Goody-two-shoes’, and that he always rewards his partners in crime.” Though his tone was gentle, there was a touch of seriousness to it. “Think of it as a promise, so he expects her full commitment in the next kitchen raids and art discussions in the future.”  

Rin felt like crying at that moment, but she managed to rein it in and watch him walk away in stunned silence as his maroon cloak billowed in the wind and his long wavy hair caught fire in the orange hue of Laurelin.

Then she remembered who and what she was. Snap out of it, she chastised herself. He’s nice to all of his subjects. She shook her head firmly, and went back to work.

Chapter Text

Rin wished she were half as invested into the High Feast as the elves around her. At least she would feel something at the prospect of a week remaining until the beginning of the celebrations. A sense of awe or appreciation of otherworldly beauty. But the more she clung to her humanity, the more detached she became. Both her inner struggles and the rushing of the elves seemed futile. Empty.

And so, she was now carrying the last few boxes full of lotus lanterns along with the rest of the servants and apprentices to the carts waiting at the front of the palace, her steps unhurried, almost dragging. She had somehow managed to convince Lady Nerdanel that it would be better for her health to stay at the palace. Of course, she didn’t mention the high probability of her either screaming very creative profanities at the Valar or just bursting into uncontrollable sobs had she decided to join them. She supposed no one would want her to make a scene during one of the most important celebrations of the year. So, with great humility, Rin had taken it upon herself to spare the rest of the elves and the Valar from herself.

The mistress of the house had begrudgingly accepted her suggestion, for one look at her less than flattering visage had told her all she had needed to know at that moment. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset about it. The appointment with the tailor had also been regrettably put on hold. “Perhaps next year,” the matriarch had said, her voice sad but a tiny bit of hope still clung to it.

Rin hadn’t had anything to say to that. Only the suffocating thought, Next year, and the year after, and the year after, and the year after… forever.

In short, Rin was among the few who were going to stay. Even Vórilotsë was going. She had told Rin once that her parents were among those who provided the fruits and vegetables for the dishes that were going to be served. And although Carnistir wasn’t looking forward to going to a very long-lasting, crowdy celebration, he too had to help with the decorations, because his works of art were going to be among them. In fact, the entirety of the noble family was obliged to go even if they had no tangible contributions to make. They were the face of the Noldor after all.

The largest group of people who were going to stay, though, were the healers. Aside from keeping an eye on Rin, Winyavílë had decided to stay because he disliked going to the Vanyarin settlements on Taniquetil. The air of cold disinterest surprised her a great deal when she had asked him about it. The healer hadn’t elaborated (he was rather tight-lipped when it came to personal questions), but his voice was firmly determined when he said that time spent with studying the art of healing would be more beneficial than spending an entire ten days just to get to Taniquetil, and then another fifteen days for festivities and the journey back. When Rin asked about his relatives and whether he would not want to see them there, he had just shrugged and said, “I already saw my parents early this year during my break.” Rin had frowned in confusion, but then chuckled, shaking her head sadly. Years meant nothing to an elf in Valinor. You knew your parents weren’t going anywhere anytime soon on these deathless lands.

And here she was, her family completely out of reach. She might’ve lost them forever.

She was about to walk out of Lady Nerdanel’s workshop with the last box of lanterns when she noticed a pair of flat-heeled shoes in her path. Although the box wasn’t too heavy, it was roomy because they didn’t want the lanterns to bump into each other too much to cause breaks when the cart inevitably jostled the boxes and their contents. It was big enough to block her line of vision, so she couldn’t clearly see who it was in front of her.

She thought it was Prince Nelyafinwë again, remembering the first day they had had a proper chat while waiting for Lady Nerdanel at her workshop. “Uh, did you need something from the workshop, Prince Nelyafinwë? Do you mind letting me through first?” She was in a hurry, after all. Everyone waited for the last of the boxes to finish packing.

“I do mind, actually,” came the smooth voice of Prince Turcafinwë from the doorway, his tone laced with cold amusement. “In fact, I suggest you back away a little if you don’t want to be accused of breaking the lanterns.”

Rin didn’t know why, but she felt a little embarrassed for some reason. It pricked her heavy, numb heart ever so slightly, and she could feel it show itself on her unhealthily pale cheeks. Why? Because I mistakenly – but not unjustifiably – assumed that it was Prince Nelyafinwë in front of me? She tensed. Like I was thinking or doing something inappropriate? Her hands clutched the box a little tighter. Nonsense. I’m not doing anything wrong. She shook her head to dispel the thought.

“The others are waiting, my Prince,” she said, “This is the last box.”

“They can wait a little while longer,” he countered airily, clearly in no hurry at all.

Moments passed, but the prince didn’t budge. Rin’s arms began to shake from the strain. With a resigned sigh, she did as she was told and walked a few steps backwards. Perhaps if she waited long enough, he would get bored of her like all the times he had before. In any case, she didn’t care, and she was determined to show that she didn’t care. She had problems way bigger than him.

As she slowly let the box down, she heard him step further into the room. Straightening herself and dusting her hands on her apron, she looked at him with a dull, lifeless expression. “What is it you wish to talk about, Prince Turcafinwë?”

The closer he got, the more unsure Rin began to feel. She almost took a step back as he stopped right in front of her and bent down to her level just like Prince Nelyafinwë had a few days ago. His piercing grey eyes were nothing but unsettling, unpredictable. They were uncannily inhuman, not exactly matching with the other elements of his face both in intensity and physicality, as if they could be distorted or replaced at any moment. Rin wondered if this was what it meant when people say someone is “fey”. It didn’t look like a visage a human would have. Too beautiful, too uncanny.

“Did you really think no one would notice?” he asked with a deceivingly soft voice.

Though her blank expression remained, Rin couldn’t help but blink in confusion. “What?”

He scoffed, “Is playing coy your idea of subtlety?” With a tilt of his head, he added, “But then again, I suppose this is to be expected of an islander who doesn’t know the intricacies of the Noldorin society.”

“There’s hardly anything intricate or subtle in carrying boxes,” Rin said dryly, unable to stop herself from answering his jibe, determined to show how disinterested she was in this stupid interrogation. Her fuse was short as of late, which was a surprise even to her, for she didn’t even know she had one left in her. “It isn’t a secret either.”

His brows furrowed in amusement, though she could sense his annoyance underneath his mocking expression. “I wonder if this obnoxiousness gets worse the further you go to the East.”

Rin couldn’t help it. Her mouth hung open in astonishment at the blatant audacity of the prince, her mind temporarily drawing blank before it began to yell with an incredulous tone, her old ferocity momentarily coming back to life. How the fuck is it possible for orientalism to follow me into another world?!

The prince’s eyes held a satisfied glint as he witnessed his endeavors to get a rise out of the nís finally proved successful, for he caught the flash of anger returning to her eyes a little bit. It was entirely possible that he himself didn’t believe a word he had just said. Whichever the case, it was a deliberate move by him. Its purpose was to push her hard enough to force her to transition from passive defense into heedless offense, because when a person’s attacks are fueled by anger, they are bound to slip up. To make mistakes. Rin realized all this a little too late, for she was already countering.

“It seems,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “like you have used that brilliant, ‘Noldorin’ intellect of yours to come up with the wrong conclusion once again, my Prince. Because whatever it is you think I am plotting, I can assure you, I am not.” She scoffed and lifted her arms up a little to emphasize she had no idea what he was talking about. “In fact, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be ‘plotting’. So please, do enlighten me.”

His eyes darkened. He wasn’t playing around the subject anymore. “I thought I told you to know your place and stay away.”

“Well, as you may have observed – ” Rin began, ready to reference her latest regression in her relationships, but was promptly interrupted.

“And yet,” his voice was slightly louder now, just enough to overwhelm hers, “you continue to play around with my brothers, leading them both on.”  

Rin frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean? Lead who…” Her assumption after his initial “warning” had been that he knew something was different about her, and that he was worried about his family in general. Her eyes widened a fraction once she realized what he could’ve meant just now, “Wait, do you mean princes Morifinwë and Nelyafinwë?”

“I wonder what you will come up with next time when people start to lose interest in you, hmm? Another concussion? Or maybe you will pretend to fade a second time?” He gestured her currently pale face and slightly thinner form half-heartedly. Then, he tilted his head in mock-contemplation, “Or wait. Don’t tell me. Surprise me. Be sure to be more creative next time, though. But know this; such methods will not grant you any of their hands in marriage. I will make sure of that. They may pity you, but they don’t pity you that much. You’ll find the effects of your caprices to be rather short-lived.”

All was silent in the workshop as Rin could do nothing but stare at the elf in front of her in utter disbelief.

She couldn’t help it. Silent chuckles began to escape her lips that soon turned into laughter, a dangerous mix of fury, derision, hurt, and irony in her voice. Oh, this is rich, she thought in dark amusement. Coming from you, Celegorm, this is rich! The absurdity of it all made her heart clench in a way that was becoming harder and harder to tolerate. It was the only thing her weakened heart seemed to feel nowadays when it wasn’t feeling numb.

She had to laugh. Because the alternative was so much worse.

Prince Turcafinwë’s expression said it all. His eyes widened with mild surprise at her unexpected reaction, but then he leaned back and lifted his chin in a satisfied manner. “I was right about you after all”, he seemed to say, which only served Rin to cackle harder, her sobs buried in her giggles. Now he was looking at her as if she had truly gone insane. Rin could swear she even saw a tinge of fear in those shiny grey eyes of his.

To think that all of her struggles with her identity and forced existence in this foreign world had been reduced to an “exotic peasant’s” ambition to marry into the House of Finwë… That someone would interpret her grief as seeking attention and pity to exploit the people around her… Not to mention the fact that the very few friendships she had possessed were being derogated to nothing but a charity project of the ever-good elves. She was as sure as her name that he had even tried to sabotage her relationships by talking to his brothers about her, thinking that he was genuinely saving them from her “manipulations”. She still remembered the way Carnistir had acted for a while during their knitting sessions. It was as if he had been trying to discern something from her movements and her words. This attitude of his had been rather short lived, but it had been enough for Rin to deduce that something was going on behind the scenes. Now, she was beginning to doubt even the times when Prince Nelyafinwë helped her and chatted with her leisurely, thinking that maybe she was nothing more than a stray pet to these people. Since her very existence in this reality was a matter of question, why not also question how people perceived her, or whether all of the relationships she had been forging until now were real? If she wasn’t real, why would they be?

A guest. That’s all I am. A guest who will turn into a pest once she overstays her welcome.

“So you admit it?” he asked in a low voice. “You really are using Moryo, aren’t you?”

Unable to answer him right away, Rin bowed her head and brought her hands up to cover her face, the heels of her palms suspiciously pressed against her eyes. She just stood there, her shoulders shaking as she tried to repress her bitter laughter so that she could speak.

When she finally looked up, the rims of her eyes were slightly red, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. “You’re so full of shit, aren’t you? All of you? You really think that you, your precious little continent and your little House are the center of the universe. And I’m just an insignificant person who’s ‘lucky’ enough to be in this paradise.” She spat the last words out with a vehemence that surprised even the elf in front of her, his eyes widening ever so slightly at her sudden shift in behavior and the intense emotions visibly fluctuating on her face.

Now it was Rin who took a step towards him, raising her head upward and looking directly into his eyes defiantly. Her voice shook slightly from fury as she quietly said, “Well, this may come as a shock to you, my Prince, but the world is bigger than your family or your Valinor. And I regret to say that you and your stupid accusations are the least of my problems.”

You are nothing.

I am nothing.

This whole world is nothing. We are all so very goddamn small.

Just as the third prince opened his mouth to respond to her jab with a ferocity that rivaled hers, the door of the workshop creaked further open. A familiar baritone called out, “Rin, is everything alright? The carts are waiting outsi – Tyelko, what are you doing here?”

Rin’s heart sank to her stomach. She didn’t want anyone else to witness this. Least of all him, for some reason. For what chance would she have then? Why would he or anyone else not take the word of their brother over hers? She was the stranger here, wasn’t she?

Alas, it was too late now. She heard the eldest son of Fëanáro come in. Her eyes remained on Prince Turcafinwë, who had broken their eye contact in favor of greeting his brother. “Nelyo,” he said in acknowledgement, then continued, “I was just expressing my concern for Eärien about what she should do when you, Mother and Moryo inevitably stop fawning over her.” He turned to the nís again, “In fact, I was about to suggest she go to her mother’s estate and reopen her house.” He tilted his head, “She did have one here in Aman, correct?”

He even did a little research about me, it seems. I’m almost flattered.

Rin didn’t see the frown appearing on Prince Nelyafinwë’s face. Nor did she notice him opening his mouth to speak. Her heart hammering in her chest, her ears started to ring. Since we’re knee-deep in this shit, might as well, she thought right before she coldly beat him to it, “Good timing, Prince Nelyafinwë. Perhaps you could decide which one of us is more delusional.” I am delusional alright, but that’s old news. But he seems to have written a whole soap opera in his head.

“There’s nothing delusional about me when I can see you make your pathetic, ungrateful attempts at biting the hand that feeds you,” Prince Turcafinwë hissed right back at her, his steely gaze meeting hers.

“Tyelko, that’s enough,” interjected Prince Nelyafinwë with a firm voice. “The others are waiting outside. You know how impatient Father gets. Go and help him see to the preparations.”

That made Rin turn away from the third prince, fear and doubt gripping at her chest. Prince Nelyafinwë wasn’t asking what his younger brother had meant just now. Nor did he look too surprised or outraged. If anything, he had a tense, warning look on his face that silently urged his brother to obey.

So he knows about the accusations.

After a brief moment of silent conversation between the two (Rin was becoming rather sick of these), Prince Turcafinwë grunted a “Fine,” and made his way towards the door.

Meanwhile, Rin was more confused than ever, paranoia festering in her mind like a sickness. All this time, had he continued to interact with her despite the accusations, or because of them? She didn’t doubt Carnistir all that much, but Prince Nelyafinwë had always been a bit of a closed book to her.

" I guess I just want to see what you’ll do next.”

That was what he had said at the palace garden. Could it be because he saw her as nothing more than an exotic novelty, like how a child viewed a new toy? Or did he suspect her like Prince Turcafinwë, but was nicer and subtler about it?

But he’s been so kind… he had helped her at Lady Nerdanel’s workshop, at the palace kitchens, and at the gates. She hadn’t forgotten about his sweet little gesture a few days ago either. Did he pity her, then? Was she indeed just a charity project to him? 

Prince Nelyafinwë’s eyes met hers, the harsh glint in them softening a fraction upon seeing her distraught and torn expression. He took a step towards her and gestured towards the box she had put down earlier with, “Come, Rin. I will help you with the rest. We can talk in the meantime.” To clear up any misunderstandings or to confirm her suspicions, Rin didn’t know. Either way, he seemed to be in a hurry to talk to her.

“I understand you pity her, Brother, but do not let it cloud your judgement,” called Prince Turcafinwë leisurely from across the room. “Orphans can be deceptive, too.”

Unable to think clearly from the white-hot rage that occupied her entire being, Rin’s first instinct was to deny it immediately, “I’m not an orphan,” she growled. Because she wasn’t. She had a family, and they were alive. They had to be alive.  

The look on Prince Nelyafinwë’s turned painful, his breath stuttering ever so slightly. It unwittingly served to infuriate her even more. He looked like he wanted to reach out; to say or do something in consolation but he was unsure of how to approach her in this situation. For all they knew, she was like a child blatantly denying an indisputable fact.

What a fucking tragedy.

But Prince Turcafinwë smiled dangerously, “Already owning this House, I see.”

This time the anger in Prince Nelyafinwë’s eyes was undeniable, the outrage audible in his voice, “TYELKORMO – ” He turned sharply to his brother, ready to pull him aside for a harsh reproach.

But Rin was already walking towards the third prince, hands balled into fists, shaking as her whole frame trembled with fury. “What did I ever do to you?” she asked, voice rising with every word, knowing all too well despite herself that the worst thing one could possibly say to a bully was to ask why. “To any of you? What did I ever do other than TRYING TO EXIST?!” She was shouting at the top of her lungs now, and typical to the fashion, Prince Turcafinwë had grown quieter, calmer. His eyes glinted in satisfaction. Now it was she who overreacted. Who caved in first and started yelling for no apparent reason.

The violent, unruly, uncivilized one.

All was silent for a moment after Rin’s ungainly outburst except for her heavy breathing.

Then, a calm voice rose from behind Prince Turcafinwë, cold and detached as ice.

“I’ve heard and seen enough.”

All heads turned to the new figure in the doorway. That familiar crackling energy had settled into the atmosphere of the workshop without any of the young elves noticing it at first, bouncing off the already heightened emotions.  The two brothers stiffened. Rin’s eyes widened as her breath got caught in her throat for a moment, going absolutely still despite her rage.

The figure who had been silently watching the exchange between the princes and Rin was none other than the Crown Prince Fëanáro. For how long had he been standing there? The expression on his face was impossible to read, his stance indecipherable.

She heard a movement from behind her, a tentative step forward so silent that it was nigh impossible to hear if not for her elvish ears. Rin didn’t have to look back to know it was Prince Nelyafinwë, the first one to recover from shock. But a quick glare from his father was enough for him to halt in his tracks and remain quiet. Despite the gravity of the situation, though, Rin couldn’t help but find the eldest prince’s strong, pillar-like presence reassuring. She felt as though he had her back (in this case quite literally standing behind her), an assumption which she had to remind herself might not necessarily be the case.

Finally, just when Rin thought the tension in the room was about to snap, Fëanáro spoke. “It is truly appalling to witness a son of mine taunting and accusing a resident of my household solely based on the fact of them being an orphan, of all things.”

Despite not being the addressee of this cold remark, Rin involuntarily flinched at the underlying fury and outrage behind the smooth voice. It was like a strong current that flowed beneath a calm surface, threatening to drown whoever was unfortunate enough to dive and get caught in it. His intense gaze was fully on Prince Turcafinwë. “I sincerely hope you will prove me wrong in the next few minutes.” He gave a curt nod and said in a deceptively calm voice, “Please, yondo. Go ahead. I’m listening.” 

For a while, all was silent as the third prince tried to recover from his father’s intensity. Rin couldn’t blame him. She was having a hard time collecting her wits as well, and she wasn’t even the recipient of the questioning. At last, having gathered his thoughts, he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. With a determined look on his face, he said, “Father, you can’t tell me it’s not strange that she befriended Moryo in mere seven days. And it’s undeniable that she has gone through some sort of a change after her concussion. Even Mother says that her behavior has changed drastically and continues to change on occasion. There is no consistency. All I wanted to do was to warn my brothers not to get carried away with feelings of pity and let her into our lives so quickly in case she has a hidden agenda.”

Fëanáro’s features gave nothing away as he quietly asked, “And what might that agenda be?”

This time, the third prince hesitated, “I’m not sure, but it is quite possible that she saw her new residency here as a chance to get close to Valinor’s royal families.”

A scoff of derision rose from Rin’s throat, making the Crown Prince shift his attention her way abruptly. Her contempt and revulsion could not be suppressed for long after all.

At that same moment, Prince Nelyafinwë had huffed in exasperation. “Father, I can assure you that Rin’s struggles are real, though I cannot say what they are for certain. I’ve seen it with mine own eyes at the gates.” He shot a glare at his brother, “There are some things you just cannot fake.” Rin had the distinct feeling that this was something he had some personal experience in. The statement sounded more personal than it was intended. She wasn’t sure if the other two elves in the room had caught on it, though.

Or maybe I’m just overthinking and reading things that aren’t really there. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Fëanáro’s rapt, attentive gaze traveled from one young elf to the other unhurriedly, his feline features uncannily passive. His eyes stayed on Rin longer than they did on his sons. Rin had to consciously stop herself from shifting uneasily under his scrutiny.

I didn’t do anything wrong, she thought as she forced herself to look at the Crown Prince in the eye. The fiery silver orbs were both terrible and beautiful to look at. She wanted to tear her gaze away and keep staring at his face at the same time.

A flash of recognition came and went in Fëanáro’s eyes so quick that Rin thought she might have imagined it. Before she could dwell on it further, though, he turned to his third son again, “Then, should I take it that your very own mother, who is not of royal blood, also took advantage of me the way you claim this nís is doing?” he asked with a voice dangerously impassive, neither hostile nor favoring. “Or that I have something wrong within me because my Mother is in the Halls?”

Prince Turcafinwë’s eyes widened at the implications. Unable to come up with a sound argument, he bowed his head slightly in submission, muttering, “No, Father. That was not my intention.” This was the first time Rin witnessed him turning speechless, looking almost human for a split second in his frustration, though still maintaining his pride and grace. Perhaps she would’ve enjoyed the moment more had she not been disappointed in the fact that she hadn’t thought of that counter herself when he had had her cornered.

Yet another thing that annoyed Rin was that they were talking about her as if she weren’t in the room. No one was asking her anything. Not that she was in the ideal conditions to talk without screaming, but still… She hoped she at least had the chance to defend her case, just as Prince Turcafinwë had.

The silence that settled into the workshop was for a while broken only by the distant noises of servants and their loading of the carts. Rin didn’t dare speak up. She didn’t trust herself to keep a modicum of composure at that moment.

At last, Fëanáro let out a heavy sigh and lifted his chin in finality, turning to Rin, “I’d like a few moments alone with my sons, Eärien. Go up to my office and wait for me there. I will be with you shortly.”  

Her rage not yet completely simmered down, all Rin could do was nod silently and turn around, closing the door a little too loudly on her way out. Her back to the eldest son of the Crown Prince, she didn’t see his concerned expression.      

She could feel her cheeks burning as she climbed up the stairs. The halls of the castle were hauntingly empty since the majority of the servants were either sent home for the celebrations, or on the first floor helping with the packing. Her solitary footsteps echoed all throughout the marble walls and pillars, announcing the world of her journey up. A world in which she was the only one making a sound with her inelegant, ungainly, and very human gait.

By the time she had reached the sixth floor of the palace, she was panting. Stress and exhaustion were catching up to her, but she continued her march through the corridor in a tunnel vision. The magnificent view of Tirion passed her by as she walked by the windows one by one, not even bothering to look out.

******

She opened the door to the Crown Prince’s study more carelessly than she had intended. Nevertheless, it swung inwards without making a sound. While she had been to Lady Nerdanel’s office many times before, this was Rin’s first visit to her husband’s study.

Structure-wise, it mirrored Lady Nerdanel’s almost perfectly. On the left side were several crafting tools and some of the unfinished projects, the majority of which had been transported here to make room for the lotus lanterns. On the right side stood a long, wide table that was almost entirely covered with sketches and blueprints of God knew what. Some books and notebooks were sprawled open as well. Overall, it looked like only the owner of the table himself would be able to make sense of the chaos on it, so she made sure not to touch anything. In front of the desk were two chairs for visitors to sit on. Behind it and its comfortable chair loomed a small-scale library, covering the wall almost entirely. Books and parchments were neatly stacked to the brim.

Had she been in a calmer, more stable mindset, Rin would’ve approached the library and perused its contents. But this time, the balcony directly opposite the office door caught her attention. She supposed having a balcony in one’s office was not such a rare luxury here. She slowly approached the winged doors of glass. Pushing the curtains aside, she grabbed the doorknobs and twisted them. It wasn’t locked. She stepped through and greeted the gentle wind of Aman with a weary sigh. Her heart ached for a sunrise or a sunset, but only the mingling light of the Two Trees illuminated the palace and its surroundings. She even missed the sun burning her skin and eyes. Men were indeed the Children of the Sun.

It didn’t feel natural to see everything illuminated without a beacon of light up in the sky. She supposed the stars could count, especially now that she was high off the ground enough to see their faint glow, barely visible from the overwhelming Treelight. It wasn’t that the scenery wasn’t beautiful. On the contrary, it was breathtakingly sublime. The air was crisp and clean, the forests and meadows surrounding the palace were vibrant and green at an otherworldly level. Tirion was visible from where she was standing as well. But just like the elves, their cities and the structure of their buildings were familiar, yet uncanny. They were elegant, strong, rooted, but also flexible and sinuous. It was obvious that the hands that shaped those stones were not human, and their owners didn’t look at the world the same way as humans either. This was by no means a bad thing, but for Rin, it all felt so alien. Not only did she feel out of her league with this race, but she also couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.  

!!!!!!

Or maybe there’s one thing too many, she thought with a bitter smile, bending a little to rest her elbows on the intricately carved railing, looking down at the far left at the buzzing elves loading the carts at the front gate, all serene and unhurriedly busy. They were almost done. As she watched them go about their lives, she pondered over how insignificant and inconsequential she was to them all. She didn’t belong to any of their lives, not really. Eärien had the potential to be, maybe, but not her. She was just some person they have crossed paths with on daily basis. They had their lives. Hundreds and hundreds of years to live the same day, almost frozen in time, but accompanied by their aspirations, family, friends, and their souls that were strong enough to withstand eons…

She couldn’t find any protrusion or ridge she could use to stop her fall. No sense of belonging. Even if she did try to form connections, who knew how many other elves had interpreted her behavior the way Celegorm did? Would they blame her for coming between brothers, for being the cause of a falling out, if such a thing was even possible? Would she blame herself? Perhaps it would be best to stay away from the princes altogether. She didn’t need this tension. But that would most likely mean that she would have to leave Lady Nerdanel and Vórilotsë as well.

Perhaps I should live alone for the rest of my days, like Granny Ëarsil. But then again, even she isn’t completely alone.

She straightened but didn’t step away from the railing, peering down at the bottom deep in thought instead. Her fear of heights was making her head spin already. It was quite the drop. Her grip tightened on the marble as an enticing, yet frightening thought slithered into her mind: No one could help her but herself.

What if I… what if I jump?

Her eyes widened as realization slowly dawned on her. I remember almost drowning before opening my eyes here. Her breath stuttered. What if I jump, and then find myself back in my world? Back in the sea, perhaps? Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, she gulped. I “died” to get here. Maybe I have to “die” again to get out? Cold sweat was beading on her forehead and temples; nausea began to yawn awake in her stomach. It would still hurt, though, wouldn’t it? For a few seconds, at least… she thought despairingly.

Soon enough, doubt creeped in along with immense fear, because what if she died in earnest? What then? And what would happen to the real Eärien, if she was alive somewhere? There were too many unknowns. She began to shiver, not wanting to even think about Lady Nerdanel and the others when they found the remains of her elvish body, splattered on the palace’s front yard.

I want to live, she thought miserably. A groan escaped her lips as she tried to breathe, slightly swaying back and forth. She was afraid. Could she take the risk? “Die” to live? She didn’t think she had the courage to try this route. She was going to have to brave “forever”, after all, and risk becoming a relic.

“I want to live,” she breathed in her mother tongue, voice no more than a silent whistle, squeezing her eyes shut as new tears rolled down her cheeks. What did “living” even mean in her situation?

She exhaled shakily. Her eyes didn’t stay closed for too long, for her fear tugged at her heart again, making them snap open as she took small, staggering steps away from the railing, defeated.

!!!!!!

Just as she did, a pair of strong hands gripped at her upper arms from behind and guided her away from the edge, swiftly but not roughly. Before she could fathom what was happening, she heard the Crown Prince’s smooth voice, a touch warmer than before, “Well done, Eärien,” he said to her ear. “I knew you were strong enough.”

The hands released her as soon as she was facing the office. She swiftly turned around to see Fëanáro standing between her and the edge of the balcony, his face giving nothing away except for a thin smile. When had he come in? She hadn’t even heard him approach. But then again, she had been so lost in her own mind to notice anyone’s footsteps.

For a while, they both stood silently, facing each other. When she got over the momentary shock and was finally able to speak coherently again, Rin mumbled, “I – I wasn’t trying to do anything.” She could feel her cheeks heating up from embarrassment, and she wasn’t at all petulant when she grumblingly added, “Wasn’t trying to jump”, but it was a near thing.

The flat look that Fëanáro was giving her told her that he didn’t believe a thing she said, even though it was true, in essence. She had considered jumping, yes, but not to die.

Good luck explaining that to him. God, it sounds stupid even as I think it. I don’t need to say it out loud to realize that, at least.

With an exasperated exhale through the nose, he said, “Regardless, it’s a good thing I was here on time. I didn’t want to startle you, so I came quietly, ready to catch you in case you accidentally slipped.” The Crown Prince of the Noldor didn’t roll his eyes at the last two words, but if he had, Rin was sure that it would’ve looked exactly like dear, sweet Carnistir’s sassy eyeroll. A sense of familiarity broke through the otherworldly appearance of the mightiest of the Eldar. Seeing Carnistir’s traces on his father’s face helped her calm down and warmed her numb heart a little. It was enough for a small smile to appear at the corners of her lips.

After a moment of silence, she felt bold enough to ask, “What did you want to talk about, my Lord?”

He gave her a small nod of approval, then gestured for her to follow him onto the balcony again. Unlike mere moments ago when she had been alone and overwhelmed by dark thoughts and emotions, this time she felt calm enough to appreciate the cool, soothing wind and the soft light of the Trees. Granted, they were nowhere near as close to the edge as she had been. Her emotional turmoil had taken a backseat for the moment, since the young human in Eärien’s body had difficulty to process the fact that the Fëanáro was standing right next her, hands clasped behind his back and head held high, his gaze encompassing the entirety of the scenery. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t exhausted. She didn’t think she could speak at all, both because of her awe and because of her mental weariness. Too much had happened too quickly.

“Never thought I’d see the day I make the same mistake as the Valar,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on Tirion.

In the face of such an unexpected statement, Rin turned to the Crown Prince and stared at him inquisitively, hoping he’d elaborate. As if sensing her questions, he added, “I have been so engrossed in my projects and the upcoming festival that I didn’t notice the daughter of my best friend struggling.” He canted his head, “Granted, Nerdanel bade me keep my distance for a while. Until you get used to the palace, that is.” Letting out a small huff of exasperation, he half-turned to the young nís with a small smirk on his lips, “She says I can be… a little intense upon first meetings. Though I will never understand what the fuss is about.” The underlying tone of amusement in his voice told Rin that he knew exactly what kind of an effect he had on people. This earned him a chuckle from Rin.

But then, his minute expressions turned serious again as he directed his gaze back to the view. “Still, that is no excuse. I, of all people in Aman, should’ve known better, and supported you throughout the aftermath.” The apologetic tone of his voice was accompanied by a slight tightness, which suggested that he didn’t use this combination very often. Nevertheless, his intention was unmistakable.   

Rin’s mind went utterly blank as she felt her jaw slacken. For that moment, her despair was nothing more than an aching whisper at the back of her mind due to her sheer astonishment. She couldn’t believe that her first real interaction with Fëanor would consist of him apologizing to her. Well, not directly, but still. She had the feeling that this was as direct as it would get.

I need to go lie down for a long time after this.

When she saw that he was waiting for an answer – or any type of acknowledgement, really – Rin clopped her mouth close and urged her mind to start thinking again. Say something, you idiot, quick! Alas, all she came up with was a lame “I-It’s fine, my Lord.” After a few moments of unbearable silence, she stammered on, “It is true that my progress hasn’t been so… linear thus far, but it isn’t because there aren’t people who support me. I really do appreciate Lady Nerdanel, your sons and the others.” She sighed exasperatedly, trying her best to come up with a way to explain her situation while concealing enough so that they don’t treat her as though she were crazy.

Too late for that, she groaned inwardly.

Her hand came up to scratch the back of her neck awkwardly, “It’s just that I… do not always feel like I belong here.” And without knowing, she was now letting it all out to the Crown Prince Fëanáro, of all people. But the greatest of the Eldar didn’t stop her. His face serene and unreadable, he waited for her to continue patiently in a way she came to realize was typical to the elves. Though she couldn’t discern his thoughts or emotions, she was sure that he was giving her his full attention. It reminded her of Prince Nelyafinwë a little. “I thought all would be well once I get the chance to go back to my… homeland, but it seems like that’s impossible. At least for now.” she said miserably, casting her eyes downward. “I’ve lost everything.” She couldn’t help the braking of her voice in the end.

Swallowing, she continued, “And now I don’t know what to do. There’s a whole new future ahead of me, one that I didn’t ask for, and I’m afraid of all the unknowns and possibilities. And this… this place is so big and so strange, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to be standing in it. It’s like I’m… I’m…”

“Free falling.” Fëanáro finished for her softly when he saw her struggle to find the right words. Rin’s eyes snapped up at his, wide with disbelief and relief. Already she could feel them watering all over again. He turned to her in full now, looking down at her in a way she could only describe as solidarity. This surprised her greatly, but she was in no position to think on it further as of yet.  She sniffed and abruptly averted her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. For if she did, she felt like she would start crying and she would never stop. So she gave the Crown Prince a small nod as she stubbornly blinked her tears away and bit her bottom lip hard to keep the bubbling sobs at bay, squeezing her hands into fists on her sides.

She raised her head again when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat as she met with Fëanáro’s intense but understanding gaze. “No one will light up the way for you, Eärien,” he said quietly, “You must forge your own path, and find your purpose.” He had a determined look on his face that was almost scary, “Until then and perhaps even afterwards, my house and my resources are at your disposal. Go as far as you want to with them.”

Once again, she felt that surge of energy coming from his words. It settled in every fiber of her being, revitalizing her both in body and in spirit. The belief and conviction behind them were enough to make her believe.

She wondered if it was his unwavering faith that made his words reality.

Then, his expression softened a little as he let go and said, “And do not beat yourself up for feeling lost. You’re not the only one who feels thus,” A small smirk became visible at the corner of his lips, “Should you choose to stay, you may find quite a few kindred spirits in this household.”

Rin tilted her head sideways in confusion, the overwhelming surge of emotions momentarily sidelined, “Like who?” For a moment, she thought he was going to give Carnistir or himself as an example, but that conversation wasn’t meant to be. Not yet, at least.

“That you will have to find out for yourself. Their stories are not mine to tell. But know this: You shall not be alone. I will make sure of it.” His regal declaration was definitive. “And I will make sure that you will no longer be troubled by accusations from anyone.” His gaze was steady and determined as he added, “Even from my sons.” After a moment of consideration, he amended, “Especially from my sons.” Rin had the distinct feeling that her fight with Prince Turcafinwë and the subject of his accusations had hit a nerve for him somehow. Knowing what she knew about Fëanáro as a character and his backstory, she could guess why. Though she refrained from making any big assumptions for now. No harm from being cautious.

“So… we will just have to learn to coexist for now?” she asked with a frown. “There’s hardly anything I can do if a member of the royal family doesn’t want me in the palace, my Lord.”

“His wariness of you does not extend to such degree, of that I’m sure.” She had no idea how he could be so sure of that, but she supposed he would know his sons better than her, certainly. “In any case, all he needs is a small reminder of the ideologies upon which this House was founded.” he said simply. He wasn’t dismissing either of them, Rin concluded. Not that she thought he would tell off his own son for her sake regardless of how much he related to her. Nevertheless, she had the feeling that Prince Turcafinwë was going to get a severe lecture in the near future.

“I suppose the palace is big enough to avoid further confrontation,” she muttered her consent with a sniff. Even if she had any objections, she didn’t feel like she could oppose the Crown Prince. Any debate would end up with her on the losing side. “At least for now,” she couldn’t help but add. She didn’t want to make promises she knew would be hard for her to keep, since trouble seemed to find her wherever she went. But with this statement, she at least told the Crown Prince that she would try to play nice.

A smirk reappeared on Fëanáro’s face, this time tinged with pride at the prospect of the young nís refusing to avoid the conflict altogether. Pleased, he nodded his assent. “I’m happy to see that you are a fighter, just like your mother.”

Rin blinked in surprise at the mention of Ráva. This was the first time he directly talked about the late elf-maiden that had been Eärien’s mother. The wistful expression on his face as he directed his gaze towards Tirion again told Rin that just like Nerdanel, Fëanáro had been grieving their friend’s death as well, but in his own, reserved way. Maybe that’s why he has been busying himself with work more than usual.

She felt the need to alleviate the conversation a little bit, much like how Fëanáro had done for her mere moments ago. “I heard that one of her favorite activities was to get on your nerves, my Lord.”

It was astonishing to witness the brightest of the Eldar scoff like a stubborn child while a grin of mirth graced his sharp features as he turned back to her. But his eyes held a sadness so deep that it could only belong to someone who has lost so much already. “I’m sure you’ve heard many tales from Granny and Nerdanel. You have visited Granny’s house in Alqualondë, correct?” He wasn’t ready to talk in detail about their adventures as a trio, that much Rin was aware of.

Allowing him to change the topic ever so slightly, she nodded and went along with it, “I accompanied Lady Nerdanel in her quest to get mother of pearls for the lantern project, yes.” She was pleased to see him chuckle at the dramatic flare of her tone. After a moment of hesitation, she added a bit more hesitantly, “We have agreed upon a seasonal apprenticeship. Hopefully it will start after the High Feast.”

Fëanáro nodded in approval. “I have been made aware. It will be good for the old hag to have some help around the cottage and the lighthouse.” Rin couldn’t help but snort at the way he had addressed the ancient elf just like Ráva had used to. “Try and see if you can pick up her craft as well while you’re at it.” His tone indicated that it was a suggestion rather than an order.

“I will.”  

As they talked, Fëanáro slowly led her back inside his office, and closed the balcony door. He headed towards his desk and began to tidy up his desk with precise, fluid movements as if every parchment and book had their very own specific place within the study. Rin supposed things weren’t as chaotic as they appeared to be.

It was clear that it was time for Fëanáro to join his waiting family at the palace gates. They headed towards the door, but before they stepped out, the Crown Prince called out to her again. His eyes ever so slightly alight with unmistakable defiance, “About the Valar…” he said to her quietly, “They may hold judgement over you, but remember that you do not need the blessings of beings who can never understand you.” Rin’s mouth dropped open a second time that day as the meaning of his words slowly registered into her mind. He obviously knew about the ordeal with Manwë, either from Lady Nerdanel or from his sons. But the message in his words was just as clear: Show them that you can thrive without their influence.

With his permission to leave, Rin bade the Crown Prince farewell with a small curtsy, almost forgetting to wish him and his family safe travels to Taniquetil due to the thoughts buzzing around in her head.

As she made her way to her chambers slowly, she couldn’t help but sigh wearily, the weight of the recent events still heavy on her shoulders and in her mind. Talking with Fëanáro was akin to staying directly under the sun for too long. And while she did feel motivated, she also knew that he said all those things without knowing the entirety of her situation. He didn’t know why she needed the Valar so desperately, and so she felt like his statement at the end didn’t apply to her completely.

But he was right in one thing: she couldn’t rely on the Valar to get her way. So far, she had learned for a fact that some of the Ainur knew about her, but they were adamant about not helping her. Whether they expected her to accept her situation and live quietly or do something about it herself, she didn’t know. But it would hardly matter if the goal is to spite them by thriving without their help, as per Fëanáro’s advice. She would take her time to find her purpose, and maybe even a way out. In any case, she had years to find out.

An abundance of them.

She didn’t know how she could prepare herself for hundreds of years. And although she felt her grief lessen a little with a resigned acceptance, she still felt lost. The image of Manwë’s expression of mild disdain only made the matters worse.

As she finally opened the door to her chambers and moved towards her bed to plop down onto the mattress, she noticed a piece of paper peeking out from under the bed. With furrowed brows, she knelt down to inspect what it was. A gasp of surprise left her lips as she saw that it was the drawing of a wren in flight that Prince Nelyafinwë had given her a while ago. It was partially stained with black ink now. She remembered the day of confrontation with Manwë, and the breakdown she had suffered in the isolation of her chambers. Her heart warmed a little to see that the drawing had survived the havoc she had wreaked in her anger. Albeit not unscathed, judging by the big ink stains that partially covered the bushes on one side and the little droplets that had splashed onto the cute bird’s outstretched wings.

Leaning her back against the side of the bed, Rin settled on the floor and held up the drawing. For a moment, the numb pain in her chest was diminished by the warm fire of Fëanáro’s words and the brightness of the lovely drawing. Reluctantly, she let the sensation linger and battle the image of the displeased Vala.  A small, genuine smile found its way to her lips as she felt the burden in her heart lessen.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay a couple of days longer?”

“Yes, my Lady, I am sure. There are a lot of commissions waiting for you in Tirion.”

“Are you all settled?”

“Yes, my Lady.”  

“And you will be alright?”

“Yeees my Lady,” Rin drawled in exasperation, doing her best not to roll her eyes at the fretting mistress of House Fëanáro. It was rare to see Lady Nerdanel this stressed and unsure, and it did not take Rin too long to conclude that this attitude was highly uncharacteristic, and it most certainly did not suit the matriarch. Though, given the withdrawn state Rin had been in before the family’s departure to Taniquetil and after their homecoming; her fussing over her young charge was not entirely unexpected. Rin could understand why she was worried. The matriarch had also probably heard what had happened from her husband and sons.

In Rin’s defense, she was more pensive than sad. The homesickness and alienation loomed about her still, and despair had not left her entirely either, but more often than not, her mind was thinking about what to do with the life that had been thrust upon her. She also had a feeling that there must be a reason why she was brought into this world. While she understood the dangers of putting herself in the center of events and attributing everything that happened to her to a cause, she couldn’t help but think that her being here would be too random otherwise.

So random, in fact, that one might think it was too specific.

In short, she had had a lot of time to think during the High Feast when the palace was nigh empty and there was nothing to do, and her conversation with the Crown Prince had been enough to spark her stubborn side back to life. She began to get up in the mornings just to metaphorically pull the middle finger to the Valar and whoever brought her here. Although she still struggled with sleep occasionally, she took care to eat and hydrate well and tried to mind her appearance to look clean and smart. Her general attentiveness and enthusiasm slowly returned as well, albeit now a little dampened with her thoughtful and quiet attitude.

She hadn’t neglected her visits to the healer’s wing either, which pleased both Winyavílë and the heads of the household. His reports were a primary source of relief to Lady Nerdanel and played a huge part in convincing her to let Rin stay with Granny Ëarsil. Rin had had to restrain herself from hugging the life out of him and smooching his cheeks when he had given his leave for her to go.

Bring it on, Manwë. And the rest of you lot, she thought every day. Something you clearly do not know about us humans:

We’re nothing if not petty little shits who can and WILL adapt. A vindictive smile usually accompanied such thoughts. One might say we are like cockroaches.

As she stepped out of Granny Ëarsil’s cottage, Lady Nerdanel stopped to turn to Rin once again, her eyes narrowed, “And if you need anything, and I mean anything, you will write to me or my husband, yes?”

The young nís huffed, “As I’ve said five times already, yes, my Lady.”

“You can come back anytime. You don’t have to wait for the end of your apprenticeship.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Just say the word and I will come, understood?”

“Yes!” Rin was nigh shouting now, but Lady Nerdanel was unfazed.          

“And you won’t try to hide it if something bothers you?”

“Yes – I mean, no! No, I won’t,” Rin managed to amend last second. Lady Nerdanel’s eyes narrowed further in suspicion.

“By the Singing Waves, Nerdanel, stop being such a mother hen,” scolded Granny Ëarsil, coming up behind Rin to stand next to her in the doorway. “It’s not like I will overwork her to the bone.”

The matriarch couldn’t hide her wince at being called out, but she still appeared to be torn at the prospect of leaving her charge alone with someone who wasn’t exactly known to be attentive or sensitive. And while Rin had her own reservations towards how her stay at Granny’s will go, she was also hoping that her apprenticeship will keep her busy enough so to give her mind and emotions a break.

They slowly walked over to where Lady Nerdanel had stationed her horse. Right before she mounted, the matriarch turned to Rin again and took her hands in hers. Her long, slender fingers enveloped Rin’s all the way to her wrists. With a hushed voice, she said, “I will come and check up on you whenever I am able. In the meantime, enjoy your stay here.” She darted a quick look at Granny Ëarsil, “And do not forget to demand apple tarts every once in a while. Your mother, Fëanáro, and I enjoyed them plenty in the past, and now so should you.”

“Hopefully she won’t be as rowdy as you three were,” grunted Rin’s new mentor.

Rin feigned a disappointed sigh, “I’m afraid you’ve raised the bar way too high for me to top all by myself. But hey,” she shrugged with a grin, “at least I won’t have to share the apple tart with anyone else.”

 “I shall make sure to ask the kitchens to make desserts more often.” Lady Nerdanel’s expression turned serious, and she gently squeezed Rin’s hands as she said, “Do not hesitate to write to me or my sons, alright?”

Rin’s smile faltered a little at the reminder of the princes they had left in Tirion, but she managed a hesitant nod. And so Lady Nerdanel mounted her horse and headed towards the busy streets of Alqualondë. Just as she rode away, Granny Ëarsil lifted the bucket she had been carrying up until now, and emptied the seawater within onto the road in one big arc where Lady Nerdanel had stood moments ago. It was a small, Telerin ritual that she had done the first time they visited her as well, and it symbolized her wish for the travelers to have a safe and swift journey; and the hope that they would come back to her one day. May you find your way like water.

As they turned around and went back to the cottage by the sea, Rin yet again tried her best to suppress the memories of her latest interactions with the two Fëanorian brothers in favor of not cringing the hundredth time. 

Their parting had been… strange. Out of the blue, Carnistir had knocked onto the door of her chambers and given her a bunch of homework for their Quenya lessons that Rin had completely forgotten were still going, grumbling, “You can send them to me as you finish them one by one or just write to me if you have questions or if you’re stuck somewhere. But if you don’t want to,” he had shrugged, looking away nonchalantly, “You can just show them to me all at once when you get back.” He hadn’t addressed the issue with his brother, but Rin had the feeling that he knew about it to some degree. She needed space, and he understood that. If she had to be honest, his stiff movements and gruff-but-caring attitude bordering on awkwardness were very endearing, and it made her heart swell in a bittersweet way. That was the only time she had felt sad about leaving the household. She hadn’t been able to prevent herself from promising him that she would try to write to him.

As for Prince Nelyafinwë… well. Rin didn’t know what to feel about him. On the one hand, the questions that had arisen during her fight with Celegorm were still plaguing her mind, and she was still curious about what he thought of her. The problem was whether she really wanted to hear the answers to her questions. She was afraid to hear from his lips that he was friendly towards her because he found her exotic, or because he pitied her. She didn’t feel like she was ready to confront this issue with him.

So she had avoided him, and was avoiding him still, even in thought. Their interaction had been brief and formal when they bumped into each other. She had greeted him, asked him mundane questions about his stay at Taniquetil and the High Feast with an equally mundane voice and an awkwardly stiff attitude, averting her gaze to willfully ignore his crestfallen expression. Though she was certain that he had been able to hear her pounding heart. But like his brother, he too gave her the space she made clear she needed and had not insisted on keeping the conversation up for very long, allowing her to make a beeline for her room to get ready for her own journey the next morning. The only sign of him she had encountered the next day had been when she returned from the dining hall to find three books on her bed with a note.

To keep you company. I hope they will be to your liking.

  - Prince Goody-Two-Shoes

Her cheeks had tingled and burned as she gingerly put the note down to look at the books, pointedly keeping her gaze away from it as if it had personally offended her. They were about the happenings at the time of Cuiviénen, the Great Journey, and finally Valinor, mostly in the form of lyrical tales that Rin suspected had been passed down orally for a long while before finally finding their places on paper first by Master Rúmil and his scribes, then by Fëanáro when he transcribed them from Sarati into Tengwar.

She wasn’t sure if this had been some kind of reassurance, a sign of truce, or a consolation. But the one thing literary scholars cannot resist is, well, books. So, with a heavy sigh, she had begrudgingly shoved the books carefully into her pack, mumbling, “I suppose I could use them to practice my Quenya.”    

As these memories threatened to suffocate her, Rin followed Ëarsil inside and immediately helped her set up her materials. “Here,” said the elder, handing her a piece of cloth and a pair of what she could only assume were goggles. And odd-looking ones at that. “Cover your eyes, nose and mouth with these. We’re starting right away.”

Rin frowned as she looked them over, “I didn’t know mussel-carving could be dangerous.” She ran her hand along the surface of the goggles and realized that the oversized frames were made of sea turtle shells. Knowing what she knew about elves, these were probably made of the shells of turtles that had already been dead. The round holes for the eyes were filled up with glass.

Ëarsil lifted a bucket full of big mussels onto her hip and carried it outside, where they were going to work.  “Cleansing and carving exude harmful dust, toxic for the eyes and the lungs.” With one hand, she pointed at another bucket, “We will need to constantly add water while we work as well, lest the dust grows and spreads.”

When she noticed Rin turning the goggles this way and that in her hands with a fascinated expression on her face, she huffed while trying to suppress her smile, “Those were one of the first Fëanáro made for me. All from the materials around here.” A small chuckle broke through, “He can be economic when he wants to be, that brat.”

“Did he make these back when he used to visit you with Rá – I mean, my mother and Lady Nerdanel?”

A moment of silence, and then a quiet “Yes.”

The passing of Ráva was a touchy subject in so many different ways, depending on the person mourning her. While Lady Nerdanel and Granny Ëarsil took the brunt of pain for the sake of keeping her memory alive, Fëanáro appeared to be forcefully pushing forward as he tried to deal with the pain internally, hence why his visits were rare and brief now. Too many memories, still too fresh. She didn’t know him well enough to assume he was bottling his feelings up or running away from them (frankly, she couldn’t imagine him running away from anything), but she was sure that he wasn’t ready to face his loss head on just yet. He needed time to figure things out in his head and his heart first, just like a student who first needs to understand what exactly he doesn’t understand about a new subject before asking for assistance. And death, especially for the elves in Aman, was a new subject.

Besides, Rin thought as she set up the materials with Granny Ëarsil, isn’t the death of a loved one always a raw, new experience no matter how many times you encounter it? Even for Fëanáro, who had already been touched by death before with the loss of his mother, it was quite possibly like a scar reopening and bleeding as if it were the first time it was inflicted.

She looked at Ëarsil, who was setting up the workshop where it would get the optimal Treelight for them to see through the goggles (which wasn’t much, they still needed a crystal lamp, but it was better than nothing). She and Lady Nerdanel had been open about their sorrow and the need for each other in times of mourning in hopes of finding some kind of release from the pain in their hearts. Rin could only hope that they would try to involve Fëanáro in their efforts, and that he would go to them for solace when he feels ready.

Because unlike Rin, he didn’t have to be alone in his grief.

For the remainder of the day, Ëarsil taught her how to use a big whetstone wrapped in sandpaper to peel off the mossy and muddy outermost layer on the shells. She supposed this would have been quicker and easier (albeit much more dangerous for her) if they had just used a wet saw, but Fëanáro had yet to invent electricity. She wondered if he would really do it if she introduced him to the concept, but then quickly squished the idea for the fear of meddling with things way above her head. It was a grueling process in which she had to dip the shell into the water constantly, which made it slippery on the whetstone. But both women were patient, Ëarsil with her teaching and Rin with her learning. The younger nís took comfort in the repeated movements and allowed the task to take her away from her grief to simplicity of the present moment. Neither the past nor the future existed; just her, the shells, the sandpaper, the whetstone and the older woman in front of her guiding her through the motions.

She was extremely clumsy and knew right away that cleaning the outer layer of the shells was the only thing she was going to be tasked with for a long while before she could even think about cutting them to make accessories or ornaments for furniture. Many shells broke in her hands as she tried to figure out not just the technique but also her own strength. The goggles made it hard for her to see at first, but she slowly got used to it. Still. By the end of their first session, her hands were covered with little cuts and bruises, and her nails were nigh destroyed.

Ëarsil was a strict, grumpy teacher, and she most certainly did not sugarcoat her words when Rin made the same mistake several times over and wasted precious materials (“The Telerin Divers did not go through all the trouble just so you break the shells and scrape yourself!”) Compliments were scarce, but that only made them more satisfying to hear when she achieved something. She might be a slow-learner, but Rin was stubborn in her own right. She asked questions – some of them stupid – and made her teacher show her the same shell-cutting technique over and over again until she thoroughly understood it.

On those occasions, their exchange usually went along the lines of: “How many times do you need to see it, girl? Has the dust addled your brain already?”

“Yeees yes Granny. Sorry for not being a genius like your previous students. Now will you show it to me again?” Ëarsil would grunt at the fact that her grumpy remarks were not taken seriously, but she always provided Rin with explanation and demonstration whenever she asked for them.

In turn, Rin was respectful (most of the time), and Ëarsil refrained from intervening too much, allowing her to figure things out on her own first until it became apparent that she couldn’t.

Rin wasn’t sure how many hours they spent cleaning the shells. All she knew was that her back was hurting from leaning forward too much when they finished. Ëarsil had smacked her back to get her to straighten up several times (“You’ll inhale the dust if you stick your face into your work, you dolt!”), but she ended up hunching over it unconsciously again, remembering the dust when it became visible in the air. Fortunately, the cloth had protected her well enough. By the end of it all, the goggles had left their marks on her face as well.

After several days, though, the activity of cleansing the mossy layers were beginning to bore the young nís. “When do I get to actually shape them?” she whined one day as they prepared for dinner.

“Oho, what’s this? Already an expert? Last I checked, you still took four times longer than necessary to clean one shell!”

“I know how it’s done now, though. The rest is just muscle memory – Ow!” She flinched from surprise as she felt the soft smack of a wooden spoon at the back of her head.

“Muscle memory is the foundation of everything, girl. Only then do you get to think about the next step.” She threw a quick look at the fresh bandages on her apprentice’s fingers. They were all minor injuries that healed very quickly, and the elder woman took great care to treat them after each lesson, but they still happened more often than she would’ve liked. “We need to carve that clumsiness out of you first.”

Said apprentice pouted, “So you won’t let me cut a shell until I begin to clean it without thinking?”

“That’s right. Until then, you will watch me do it. No shortcuts. Now, set the table. The soup is almost ready.”

They ate their modest dinner in comfortable silence; each lost in their own thoughts. Rin was surprised how quickly she had made herself at home here. How she talked and acted without the fear of judgement or suspicion. Granny Ëarsil didn’t question or comment on the things she said or did, unless they were too weird. She’s had a long life, Rin thought as she slowly chewed a piece of bread, she’s one of the firsts who awoke by the shores of Cuiviénen. I would hardly be the strangest thing she has seen.

Once, she commented on the “strange, uneven melodies” Rin hummed absentmindedly while she was rubbing the shells onto the whetstone, not to ask about the origins of them but to ask whether she liked singing like her mother used to. “She would sing and play her lute while I worked,” she murmured as she looked over a shell through a magnifying glass, “That was her way of shirking work, of course,” she added with a fondly exasperated huff. “Not that I didn’t like it.”

“She had a lute?”

 “She did. She carried it around everywhere she went. It isn’t one of those extravagant lutes of Aman either. It was made by the Teleri of Tol Eressëa. A gift from her husband.” She chuckled, “She usually improvised on the spot. Some of the songs were quite blasphemous, mind you.”

“They were?” Rin could feel the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. 

“Oh yes. She once sang a song that speculated how big Lord Tulkas’ certain parts of… nether regions were. All in the name of praising him for his victory over the Dark Rider, of course.”

Rin outright cackled at the unashamedly dirty subject of the song. She heard the elder laugh quietly with her. “Thankfully, only us lucky few heard it,” she added.

She waited until the laughter died down before speaking again. Pursing her lips in trepidation, Rin tentatively asked, “Do you know where the lute is now?”

The older nís sighed, “I don’t know, child. My guess is that she took it with her to that cursed island. That was the last time I saw it. And her.”

“I see…” She felt the need to clarify, “I think I would like to learn how to play it someday.” Since I will be staying in this world for a while, might as well.

Ëarsil hummed thoughtfully, then said, “As long as you don’t curse us with the imagery of Tulkas’ – ”

“I can assure you, Gran, I lack that kind of talent,” interjected Rin hurriedly. Once the friendly silence settled down again, though, she felt a different kind of anxiety taking residence inside her heart. “I…” she began, but hesitated as she struggled with the words, “I am not Ráva, Gran.” I’m not even her daughter. “I cannot ever be like her.” I don’t think I can truly be like anyone here. Her voice lacked the venom for her statement to be a cold remark or a rebuke. It wasn’t designed to hurt. Rather, it was designed to express a new kind of fear.

She was afraid to disappoint. To lose what little support she had if she proved not to be enough. All this talk about her “mother” was beginning to make her feel like she had to fill in some big shoes and step into a new identity for them to keep her in their circle. She lifted her head up and straightened her shoulders, trying to appear more confident than she actually felt, “And I don’t want to.”

Silence reigned for a long while after that. Then, Granny Ëarsil put down the shells she had been working on, and reached out to grab Rin’s hand, giving them a squeeze. A sharp, approving smile was Rin’s reward as the elder said, “Good.” A moment later, she was back at work again. “I don’t think Valinor can take another unruly elf, frankly.”

Well, Rin thought as she resumed cleaning the shells, tilting her head as she considered the older woman’s remark, I don’t know about that.  

******

It was on the twentieth day of her apprenticeship that Rin was finally forced to confront the consequences of her actions.

Well, one of them, at least.

She and Granny Ëarsil had gone to the lighthouse the previous day to see what kind of reparations it needed aside from cleaning.

The bricks and stones of the exterior were as solid and sturdy as ever and the wood within the construction had yet to begin succumbing to the moisture – though it could use some polishing. But the real problem was the degradation of the bright white paint of the lighthouse that made it noticeable across the coast. Some cracks had begun forming and some parts of the surface had peeled off. And so, Rin was sent to the inner city to procure white paint along with some cleaning and polishing materials. Granny Ëarsil had given her a piece of paper with the addresses she needed to visit to do her shopping.

This was her first time venturing into Alqualondë alone, so when she left the coast and stepped into road of neatly-cut, crystalline sandstones of the city, she felt herself buzzing with excitement and trepidation. It took her great effort to stay on the mission entrusted to her and not get lost in bazaars and shops for the sake of exploration. Although she had plenty of time to procure the materials, she still couldn’t afford to get lost.

She only stopped to ask the Teleri on the streets for directions. Smiles came much easier to the people of Alqualondë, and their calm attitude helped her relax when she felt like she completely lost her way. In the end, she managed to find and buy the materials from their respective shops with a considerable amount of discount when she off-handedly mentioned she was there to do Granny Ëarsil’s bidding. The elves seemed to respect the elder, and maybe even feared her a little. Rin wasn’t surprised. Granny Ëarsil was, after all, a grumpy individual too honest for her own good, and took no shit from anyone. Qualities to be admired, if Rin did say so herself. When they tentatively asked Rin who she was to her, she told them that she was her apprentice. She could barely prevent herself from giggling as they wished her all the best in a manner that made it look like they were offering her their condolences instead. She accepted their good wishes cheerfully, inwardly enjoying their unsure faces.

The discounts had left a small amount of money in her pocket, so she thought she could briefly stray from her way back to the cottage into a bazaar to find some sweet fruits for her and Granny Ëarsil to eat. She vaguely remembered that the elder elf liked figs and apricots. She looked down at the heavy buckets of paint, polish, and bags of soap in her hands. “I suppose I can carry a bag of fruit,” she concluded, so she made her way into crowd. She craved apricots herself. Since chocolate didn’t appear to be a thing in Aman yet – much to her immense disappointed – she needed to fulfill her need of sugar with more boring but healthier methods. We’re freshly out of cookies, too, she thought with a miserable sigh. Figs and apricots should do the trick for now.

Just as she was about to pay the elf who was handing her the fruits, though, she heard a familiar voice coming from beside her, though it wasn’t familiar enough for her to match it with a face without turning towards its source. “We’d like to have a bag of cherries, please!” The words sounded more demanding than polite, spoken with the coy energy of youth. The elf who stood behind the stand was all too happy to oblige, her voice equally cheerful, yet a dash calmer.

When Rin threw a quick glance to her left and saw whom the voice belonged to, her eyes widened involuntarily. She immediately averted her gaze and turned away, gathering her cargo in her arms and hands and nodding at the fruit-seller, who wasn’t even looking her way anymore as she tended to the needs of the customers whom Rin so desperately wanted to get away from before they noticed her.

No such luck. Just as she was about to leave, the excited chatter of the youths beside her abruptly ended with a shout, “It’s you!”

She didn’t stop. Maybe, she hoped beyond hope, just maybe, he will let go if I pretend I didn’t hear him. Besides, I might not even be the one he’s talking to.

Unfortunately, the elf in question wasn’t used to being ignored. In just three long steps, he put himself in her path, towering over her with crossed arms. A bag of cherries was hanging from one of them. 

Prince Arakáno leaned forward, eyes narrowed, “You have some nerve, ignoring a prince when he’s talking to you.”

Can’t I have one peaceful vacation without encountering a wild Finwëan?! 

Determined to get rid of the young elf quickly, Rin smiled sweetly at the prince, and gave the customary curtsy as much as she could with all the bags and buckets she was carrying. “Hello, my Prince.”

The youngest son of Ñolofinwë blinked, his expression a mixture of confusion and astonishment. Pulling himself together quickly, he cleared his throat and lifted his chin, “Now you address me respectfully?”

“I’ve always called you ‘my Prince’, my Prince.” Rin said in a carefully crafted, calm voice. This time, she was determined to resolve the conflict peacefully. Without wounding the young prince’s inflated pride too much, preferably, for it was obvious that the prince had expected her to look embarrassed – or better yet, remorseful – upon seeing him again.

But for the love of God she could not take him seriously.

Surely enough, her neutral answer seemed to irritate him even more. “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it!” he huffed. “And now you’re acting like nothing happened.”

Rin could not help it. “On the contrary, my Prince. I can only hope that you are more careful with your hunting gear after that incident.”

“There was no incident. It was just a ripped cloth,” he hissed in outrage. “And for the record, I apologized to the maid, and collected the cloth from the ground to hand it to you.”

“You didn’t hand it to me, my Prince, you threw it at me,” she felt the need to correct him, though she did it with the most calm and even voice she could muster.

That seemed to have struck a nerve, as she observed the young prince involuntarily flinching. “Well, I wouldn’t have if you had not been so annoying,” he grumbled.

Rin sighed in resignation. So it’s my fault, huh. Clearly, I wasn’t able to get my point across.     

He was about to say more, but then came a bright voice from behind Rin, interrupting whatever rant he was about to unleash upon her. “Who is this nís, Káno?” She whirled around to see an elf with unruly blond hair who, although much shorter than Prince Arakáno, appeared a little older. His serene, grey eyes darted between her and the prince curiously.

“No one of importance, Cousin,” said the prince, clearing his throat in an attempt to smoothly transition from being cut short into a cough. “We have wasted enough time as it is. We still need to fetch Artanis for the picnic.”

The name set off an alarm inside Rin’s head. Soon after, her eyes widened with realization. Cousin… she repeated the words to herself, Artanis… she eyed the prince’s companion up and down. Blond hair…

Arafinwëan.

Rin was not in the mood of meeting new princes today, however good-natured they may be. “Then let this nobody not keep you, my Prince,” Rin said hurriedly, and tried to step to the side. I’m offering him – and myself – a way out. He’d better take it. But once again, her path was blocked by the Ñolofinwëan.

“You may go as soon as you apologize to me,” he said with a demanding voice, lifting his chin to look down at her.

Rin blinked, not comprehending for a second. Say what now?

“Oh for the love of…” she groaned in frustration.

“What was that? I can’t hear you,” he raised his voice a little, clearly trying to take his revenge on her for embarrassing him in front of the palace staff. And what better way to do it but in the middle of a market square?

Oh, to hell with coddling him.

“I said,” Rin’s voice began to rise too, against her better judgement. Ignoring the small voice in her head that desperately tried to remind her to finish the conversation without any bruises to the prince’s ego, she said, “that clearly I am someone of importance for a Noldorin prince to stop his plans and demand a stupid apology that I shall definitely not give.”

Needless to say, any attempts at diplomacy were out of the window now.  

As the pout on the prince’s face contorted into a frown of petulant fury, color assaulted his cheeks and ears. Holy shit, Rin thought, he might actually go redder than Moryo.

“I give you a chance to redeem yourself, and this is how you thank me?” he exclaimed. “How hard can it be to say ‘sorry’? You had no problem with scolding people back then, and now you can’t take it when it’s done to you?”

“I would have to do something wrong first, my Prince. Only then can you demand an apology!”

“You embarrassed me in front of the entire palace for nothing!” he blurted.

“You embarrassed yourself! And it wasn’t for nothing!”  

“Now now,” interjected his blond companion, who had been watching the exchange with growing interest. But they were starting to get people’s attention. Not to mention the discomfort of the poor stall-owner, who was silently pleading for him to break the fight off. “Let’s not get carried away. This is no place to cause a scene. Come, Káno. It is as you said. Sister is waiting for us to pick her up. Her lesson must be almost over.” Though his voice was light, his smile was tense.

 Moments stretched into eternity as the two combatants glared at each other. The tall youth had straightened his back to make himself look more intimidating. The nís wished her hands hadn’t been full so that she could properly show her displeasure. For now, though, she would have to settle for glaring up at him, even though it meant craning her neck a little.

The stare-down ended when the prince looked away and said with gritted teeth, “Fine. You’re not worth my time anyway.”

Rin shrugged. Although she wasn’t planning on backing down anytime soon, she was secretly happy that things didn’t escalate. “Fine.”

Her indifference caused his anger to briefly spike again. Determined to show that he cared even lesser than her, he yelled an additional “Fine!” to overpower hers. Rin had to bite her lip to keep herself from smiling at this immature display.

Just as she was about to admit to herself that his display of petulance was endearing, though, he attempted to move past her with such speed that she felt the wind of his movement. But in his haste and anger, the prince had miscalculated the space between them. She felt a rough tug at her arm and shoulder as the prince bumped into her, making her stumble a little and drop whatever she had been holding in her hand to the crystalline floor.

The white paint spilled all over, along with the fruits she had just bought. People gasped in surprise, and soon murmurs and whispers began to rise. Rin cried out in frustration, sad that the fruits were now covered with paint and therefore no longer edible. “Aww man,” she groaned as she crouched down, the princes and the crowd forgotten. She desperately tried to salvage the apricots and whatever amount of paint remained in the bucket.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the prince’s feet shuffling from side to side indecisively. “I – I… It was an accident,” she heard him stammer from above. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

“Spare me,” she growled, not even bothering to look up. Instead, she picked up the apricots and began to vigorously wipe them with the hem of her skirt. She didn’t care what the young prince did at this point. She could barely hear his cousin trying to disperse the crowd.

“Here, try using this,” she heard Prince Arakáno say with a shy voice.

Her gaze shot up as she opened her mouth to spit out a harsh retort, but it died on her lips as she realized that Prince Arakáno had brought a bucket full of clean water between them, and crouched down to pick up the apricots with her. He dipped the fruits into the water and scrubbed at the paint in silence, avoiding her glare. His face was flushed and his brows were furrowed, but this time not with anger.

After a few seconds, Rin sighed in exasperation but said nothing. She went back to scrubbing. But it soon became obvious that the apricots were going to be white forever. “It’s no use,” she mumbled, throwing the fruit into the water and making it splash.  Prince Arakáno flinched back in surprise when some of the drops sprang up into his face.  “The paint is for the Lighthouse. Of course it’s gonna withstand water,” she said as she leaned back to completely sit on the floor.

When she was met with nothing but silence, she lifted her eyes, she saw that Prince Arakáno’s shoulders had drooped along with his pointy ears. Still not daring to meet her gaze, he was staring at the floor between them with pursed lips. He looked like he wanted to say something very much, but didn’t know how to put it in words.

My God, he looks like a kicked puppy, Rin thought with astonishment, unable to stop the mild pang in her heart.

“Here you go, Lady,” said a voice from above. It was the Arafinwëan. She had forgotten he was there. Now the blond prince crouched down next to her and handed her a new bag of apricots. “For the trouble we’ve caused you.”

“I didn’t ask you to buy –”

“I didn’t buy them,” he corrected her innocently. “The stall-owner said you can have them for free.”

Rin’s head whipped up at the said elf, who nodded in agreement. “He tells the truth, my Lady. I saw everything. It was an unfortunate accident, so there’s no need for you to go empty-handed.”

Rin supposed it shouldn’t come as a surprise to see the elves of Aman be generous with their money and resources. “I… thank you so much,” she murmured as she slowly took the bag from him and stood up. Prince Arakáno silently followed suit, wiping his hands on his thighs.

“I can still use the kernels, so you can hand the dirty ones to me,” said the stall owner. Rin and the prince did so, muttering their thanks again. When the exchange was complete, Rin picked up the now upright bucket of paint. Although there was still a small amount of it left, it couldn’t possibly be enough to paint all of the cracks and peeled-off surfaces of the Lighthouse. Rin was going to have to go back to the store again tomorrow, since she had no money left at moment.

But what am I going to say to Granny Ëarsil? She sighed in resignation for the hundredth time that day. The truth, I suppose. She looked down at her remaining purchases. At least I still have the wood polish.

She was yanked out of her reverie when she heard Prince Arakáno clear his throat. “I’m… I’m sorry. Truly,” he said quietly. It was harder for him to utter words of apology in the face of genuine regret, ironically, for Rin remembered how quickly and easily they had flown from his lips during their first encounter.  

Still.

Rin huffed in fond exasperation. Then, she said in a stern voice, “I’ll accept your apology on one condition, my Prince.”

The youth perked up. “What is it?”

“Come here,” Rin said. When he didn’t move, she motioned for him to come impatiently. He reluctantly made his way over to her, curiosity winning over shyness.

“Lean down, my Prince. You’re very tall,” Rin said with a deceptively soft, serious voice. “There’s something I wish to confess.” When the unsuspecting prince did so with an innocently curious look on his face, she lifted her paint-smeared finger and drew a very neat unibrow of striking white on his face.

She even had time to tap onto the tip of his nose for good measure, leaving her mark there as well before the surprised prince yanked his head back, blinking in confusion. “Wh-what? You…!”

“Now we’re even.” She giggled as the prince’s eyes comically met in the middle, trying to see what she had done to his nose and brow. Good luck scrubbing them off. She heard his cousin snort from beside them, his hand flying up to his mouth to intercept laughter.

“The unibrow suits you, my Prince,” she said with a grin.

“Unibrow?”

She supposed elves did not quite understand why a unibrow might look aesthetically funny (since their sense of beauty was different, and it was quite possible that unibrow wasn’t even a thing for them), but it sure did not stop Rin from having fun.

“Hm-hmm. You look dashing,” she said, a few laughs already escaping her lips.

Nervertheless, the prince understood that he was being made fun of in some way. His eyes narrowed in challenge, a smirk appearing on his face. “Oh yeah? Then,” he moved in the blink of an eye, reaching for her wrist to lift her hand that carried the bucket. Before she could pull her hand away, he lifted his now-white fingers. “Then it is only right that I share it!”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Hey! Don’t you da – ”  

She only had time to turn her head slightly to the side before she felt his fingers gliding across his face, leaving their white mark like a plane in the sky as it went. “Stop moving!” The prince giggled.

It’s annoying that I can’t even be mad about it, she thought as laughter escaped her lips. For just a few moments, things were as simple as a child’s game. It felt good.

And so ensued a small-scale paint-fight in which both parties leapt away and towards each other with snow white hands, determined to adorn their opponent’s skin with artistic creativity. The blond prince soon joined the fray when Prince Arakáno assaulted his face as well when he tried to break them up, initially thinking the exchange to be hostile.

Thankfully, no fruit stands or stall-owners were harmed during the brief paint-fight. But they did gather people’s attention once again, which was something they became acutely aware of once the frenzy left them panting in exhaustion. Their faces, hair, and arms were smeared with white paint all over, and yet it hardly covered their flush of embarrassment.

Suddenly remembering her mission, Rin sighed sadly. “I’m gonna have to come back for the paint tomorrow.” She shook the nigh-empty bucket. “This isn’t enough for anything.” She turned to the stall-owner, “Sorry for the inconvenience,” Although nothing was broken, they must’ve caused unnecessary stress to the people around, especially the elf standing behind her fruit stand. “And thank you once again for the apricots. I will pay you back tomorrow.”

“No harm done,” the elf reassured them calmly, but she did let out a sigh of relief. The best thing Rin could do now was leave. Once she helped them scrub the paint off the floor, that was. With the aid of the princes and the stall-owners around them, it took a lot shorter than she had anticipated. By then, the crowd had lost interest as well.

All done, she gave the princes a hurried curtsy, and gathered her things.

“Wait!” rang the other prince’s voice.

What now?! She whirled around, prepared to tell the prince off by saying she was in a hurry, but halted when she saw both of the princes walking over to her.

“Káno and I would like to know your name,” said the elf with lion’s mane. Prince Arakáno, uncharacteristically quiet now, nodded enthusiastically. A pink hue peeked through the white paint on his cheeks as he looked again, once again suddenly shy. “My cousin may have met you before,” his companion supplied, “but it seems like he has failed to properly acquire your name.”

Rin hesitated, pursing her lips. Will this bite me in the ass later? But upon seeing the genuine looks on their paint-smeared faces, she said quietly, “My name’s Eärien. But my friends call me Rin. And you are…?”

They canted their head in formal acknowledgement. It looked quite funny with the paint all over them. “I am Ambaráto, son of Prince Arafinwë. You know Arakáno,” he added with a small smirk. The tall prince beside him grumbled pleasantries under his breath.

“It’s been an absolute pleasure to meet you,” Rin responded with a smile, her voice tinged with sarcasm ever so slightly. “Well, off I go, then. I wish you a good day, Prince  Aeg – I mean, Prince Ambaráto, Prince Arakáno,” she nodded at each one of them and turned away. This time, she wasn’t stopped.

She did her best to ignore the stares and the whispers as she passed through the streets towards the docks, deciding that it would be better to go to the cottage through the shore rather than through the city. She could only guess how wild she must’ve looked, hair, clothes and face covered with paint.

******

Granny Ëarsil didn’t say a word as Rin told her the story of how she wasted an entire bucket of white paint, though it was obvious from her gaze that she was judging her young apprentice hard. It was unnerving to see the stern brow rise higher and higher as Rin went on defending her case.

She had been working outside of the cottage when Rin arrived, and asked her crossly “What took you so long, girl? Are you directionally challenged?” Her eyes had widened upon seeing the messy state of her apprentice. “What in Utumno happened?”

When Rin finally finished recounting the events of the day, a heavy silence settled between the two women. Rin didn’t move, and neither did she break eye-contact with the elder. She simply waited for her sentence.

Then, a tired sigh, “Get in and clean up. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Rin didn’t need to be told twice. She was indeed starving. Still tense, she began to make her way towards the cottage entrance.

“Rin,” Ëarsil called out to her before she could get in. She stopped dead on her tracks and turned to her.

After a few seconds, the elder asked gruffly, “What did the princes look like?”

Rin bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. “As bad as me, if not worse.”

A snort. “Good,” murmured the older nís with a thoughtful hum. “That’s good. Now get in. I baked an apple tart.”